Copyright © 2018 by Michelle Pennington

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Michelle Pennington

P.O. Box 54

Hartford, AR 72764

www.michelle-pennington.com

Publisher’s note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locals is completely coincidental.

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Dedication

This book, my first full-length Regency Romance, can only be dedicated to:

Georgette Heyer

I shall not attempt to write like you, for that would be a great impertinence.

I shall, however, continually be inspired by you.

And to my mother, Lynn, for introducing me to my hero at a young and impressionable age!

Chapter One

Patience Wendover’s heartbeat pounded in her ears as she went quickly down the stairs of her uncle’s lavish townhome on Upper Brook Street just as the clock in the gallery above gave seven clear, sonorous chimes. Already the sun was going down and no further calls would be expected, so it was the perfect time to slip away to the drawing room for a stolen hour practicing at the pianoforte.

But as she passed her aunt’s sitting room on the first floor, she paused, hearing her name spoken. She turned her head, but no one was in sight. Then her uncle’s voice carried down the hall to her. Normally her aunt retired to her room at this time of the day to rest before the evening’s entertainments, so this was unexpected.

Patience’s heart thudded as she realized she might not be able to play today, if her aunt was awake to possibly hear her. She crept closer to the sitting-room door.

Her uncle’s voice came clearly through the narrow crack in the doorway. “Eliza, dear, you cannot expect me to believe that Patience has not even one suitor. Not with her pretty face and pleasing manner, she’s exactly as I remember her mother at that age.”

The admiration in her uncle’s voice touched her heart. Her mother was still a lovely kind woman and Patience hated that she’d been forgotten by the world that had once admired her so, simply due to her change in fortune after her husband’s death. At least Uncle Wendover had always looked after them.

Her aunt’s harsh voice broke through her thoughts and shattered her momentary happiness. “Your fondness for her mother is blinding you to Patience’s situation. She has very little dowry, no connections beyond ourselves, and is turned twenty.”

“Surely you can find at least one man who will consider her. I cannot think you are trying hard enough. Amelia has swarms of suitors. There are flowers and cards all over this house. I hate to speak ill of my own flesh and blood, but our daughter doesn’t possess half the charm or beauty of her cousin.”

“Amelia is very well, in her way. And she’s an heiress, don’t forget.”

“Yes, and I’ve had nothing but fortune hunters on my doorstep for the last three years.”

“Perhaps if you put yourself out in the interest of your own daughter as much as you have your niece, we might have secured a worthy match for her.”

“Emily, what would you have me do that I have not done? Have I so much as blinked at the bills that flood this household every week? Gowns and jewels and dancing slippers and gloves and shawls, and I know not what else. Yes, and how many of them have been for Patience?”

“You would have me dress Patience better than Amelia?”

“You’re impossible to talk to. You aren’t rational. Of course not. But why not make a push toward presenting Patience in a better light? The season is almost over.”

“Even with new gowns in the latest styles, I couldn’t make gentlemen interested in a poor mouse like Patience.”

“That is just the thing. I don’t believe she is a poor mouse. You have made her into one, with the way you quell her with your frowns and keep her in the background. And she’s unhappy too. You’ve taken away the two things that made her happy—and that on top of losing her father. It’s no wonder the girl has no spark about her.”

“The time that girl spent in her father’s stables may have made her a splendid rider, but it did not prepare for a mixing with the haut ton. Without my tutelage, she would even now be nothing more than a mad romp of a girl instead of a proper lady. And as for her playing on the pianoforte, if she would limit herself to modest pieces of music, I would not take issue. However, she plays as if she were performing for paying audiences on a public stage, and I won’t have it. It isn’t becoming for her to seek so much attention.”

“It cannot be as bad as all that, my dear.”

“It is far worse, I assure you. Fortunately, I believe she has finally given up her wayward urges.”

“I fully intend to. I have accepted an invitation to Lady Blakemore’s house party when the Season ends in two weeks. I expect to find a suitable match for both of the girls. Leave it to me.”

“I will, of course, do so. But as for Amelia, if that fortune hunter Viceroy comes next or nigh her—"

“He knows we’ll have none of his sort about our gem, no matter who his family is. And I have a few gentlemen in mind who would be anxious to wed Patience for her youth alone.”

“Who?”

Aunt Wendover was quiet for a moment and when she spoke at last, her voice held a note of bravado. “Lady Blakemore informed me that Sir George Hallister will be attending and that he’s looking for a new wife.”

“Sir George? You cannot be serious. No doubt he is looking for a new wife. He wore his last bride out in less than five years. You cannot have any notion of his reputation if you think to tie my niece to him.”

“Patience would be doing very well for herself with such an alliance. He’s got a fine fortune as well as the title, and no doubt he’ll leave her comfortably settled when he dies—which will surely be in near future at his age and with his habits.”

There was a long tense silence between them. Listening with her heart in her throat, Patience felt as if the floor beneath her feet was tipping sideways. Sir George? He aunt could not be so cruel.”

Her uncle spoke again. “Emily, I will be blunt. I do not like that match for her, and I cannot help but question your affection for Patience in hearing that you are considering it.”

When her aunt spoke again, her voice was softer, more placating. “Well, perhaps it is not just the thing. There will be others there as well. And who knows, perhaps Patience would not think as poorly of Sir George as you do.”

Patience clenched her teeth. Aunt Wendover wouldn’t care a penny for her wishes. She hadn’t since the day Uncle Wendover had brought her to London three months ago and commanded her to present her to Society. And ever since, she had been made to feel her aunt’s animosity in mean, petty ways. If not for the sure knowledge that she had to marry to ease the financial burden on her beloved mother, she would have fled ages ago.

But now, hearing her aunts plans, a new desperation surged through her. Blind with rage and despair, Patience turned and ran.

The greatest tragedy of it all was that she had fallen in love with a very unsuitable man. A rake, in fact. And not just any rake, but Lord Aston. So handsome that he was almost beautiful and with more than his fair share of charm and wit, he was the darling of society despite the fact that he was a poor prospect for marriage.

From the first time she’d seen him, she’d been swept away in daydreams of capturing his attention. When they had been introduced and had danced for the first time, she’d fallen hopelessly under his spell. They had only danced a few times throughout the season, but each burning glance, each thrilling touch of their hands, and every compliment he’d murmured in her ear had convinced her that he felt the same magical reaction to her.

If only his fortune had been more intact than his reputation, she might have had some hope. Sadly, his debts made him more ineligible than any scandalous dalliance could. Even if Lord Aston were to ask for her hand, her uncle would never permit such a marriage.

Her only hope rested on the hope that her uncle would stand firm against his wife. Well, and she could always return home to her mother—where she would live a life of impoverished gentility with no hope of improving her situation and without the means to indulge in the two past times that brought her peace. Without the ability to ride and play the pianoforte, she was very sure she might go mad.

The thought of such a future made her more determined than ever to steal away to the ground-floor drawing room and find release for her pent-up emotions in her music. With her aunt and uncle caught up in their discussion upstairs, they’d be less likely to hear her and perhaps her aunt would soon go to her room after all. Deciding it was worth the risk, she rushed down the last few steps.

In the hallway, she raised her eyebrows at Henry, the footman. He knew the ebb and flow of the household better than anyone else and had become her secret ally in this daily scheme.

His eyes flicked around. After a moment, he smiled and nodded, letting her know it was safe to proceed. With a sigh of relief, Patience hurried down the hall to the small drawing room at the back of the house. She closed the door behind her, careful to let the latch click quietly, and went to the pianoforte.

Candles were already lit on a candelabra on the pianoforte—another of Henry’s thoughtful kindnesses. As she settled on the bench, she thought of how little time she had before she must go change her dress. She was to go to Almack’s with Aunt Wendover and Amelia—a fate so unpleasant that all her repressed restlessness and rebellion surged to the surface. Her aunt’s words ran through her memory as she placed her fingers on the keys and unleashed the storm inside her.

But even after playing through the first two movements of Beethoven’s Sonata quasi una fantasi, a masterpiece she had long ago committed to memory, she felt as if the spark had been fanned into a flame instead of burning itself out. Her uncle was very right. She was not a mouse. A world of emotions seethed within her.

Her fingers danced as she moved into the third movement of the sonata, the quick, agitated tempo reflecting the racing of her pulse. As the final chord crashed around her, she pulled back her fingers and clenched them into fists as she fought to calm her quickened breath.

“Pardon me, Miss Wendover, but these flowers have arrived for you.”

Patience turned, letting out a small gasp of surprise. Henry stood just behind her shoulder, holding a large bouquet of pink peonies. It was wrapped in tissue and was so large as to be positively extravagant.

“But who…” Then, realizing that she hardly wished to admit her astonishment to a servant, she closed her mouth firmly and rose to take the bouquet from him. He smiled oddly, as if he knew a secret, turned, and shut the door softly behind him.

She examined the flowers, tracing their velvet petals with her finger. Lifting them to her face, she breathed in their consuming sweetness and saw something tucked inside. She pulled out an intricately folded note, well hidden beneath the fully open blooms. With her heart pounding, she read the words, written in a carelessly masculine hand,

Darling girl,

I can no longer restrain the confessions of my heart. I am yours, fair one, in whatever way you will accept me. Do I dare hope you feel this same torment of passion? I must know. Trust me to find a chance to steal you away at a certain house party we are both invited to, and you may tell me with your own sweet lips.

Patience gasped as her face flooded with color. It was so…shocking. So forward. So romantic.

There was no signature, but it must be from Lord Aston. It could be from no other.

Setting the flowers down on top of the pianoforte, she laid the note on her lap and began to play again, this time a bright, tripping sonata by Haydn. As she played, the euphoria that had washed over her as she read Aston’s words heightened her connection with the notes. She felt as if she might swell with emotion until she burst like a too-ripe plum.  So intense was her focus and so complete her absorption in the music that she did not know anyone had come in until a loud thwack sounded in front of her face.

Jumping in alarm, she looked at the carved mahogany walking stick still resting on top of the pianoforte. Gasping, she turned and met her aunt’s furious eyes.

“What do mean by this?” Her aunt’s voice quivered with the force of her anger.

Knowing there would be no excuse she could give that would appease her, Patience stared back, silent but unrepentant.

Pulling back her walking stick, Aunt Wendover took a deep breath, testing the strength of her straining corset. “You will go to your room and consider your situation. Let me be direct, Patience. You will not play such vulgar pieces again. And when we go to Lady Blakemore’s house party, you will not play at all except to accompany Amelia. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly,” Patience said, her voice hard and brittle as she fought to control her temper.

“What is this?” Aunt Wendover asked, reaching for the peonies. “Did you take flowers meant for Amelia?”

Remembering the note with alarm, Patience slowly moved her hand to cover it, holding her aunt’s eyes as she hid the note in the folds of her skirts. “There was no name, and the footman gave them to me.”

“Well, he should know better than that. What are you waiting for? Go to your room. I don’t want to see your face again until we leave for Almack’s.”

Keeping her hand tucked close to her side, she forced herself to walk slowly instead of running from the room. Keeping her aunt from seeing the effect of her tyranny on her feelings was the only victory Patience could claim.

She would return to her room, but she wouldn’t stay there. Hungry to defy her aunt, she made a rash decision. Finding Henry still at his post, she hurried to his side. Knowing she had only moments to escape upstairs before her aunt saw her, she spoke soft but quickly. “Will you please send a note to the stables to have Miss Wendover’s horse brought round? I’m going for a ride in Hyde Park.” Then she leaned forward. “Discreetly. Please?”

Henry stood silently for a moment, but then, to her relief, he nodded. “I’ll take care of it, miss.”

She sighed in relief, thanked him, and ran up the stairs to her room. It was only when her maid, Dora, gasped in alarm that she realized the heat on her cheek was from hot tears spilling down them.

“Whatever is wrong, miss?” Dora asked.

“My aunt hates me,” Patience replied, her voice ominously calm.

“Oh, no, miss. No one could hate you.”

Patience ran to her and dropped her head on her maid’s sturdy shoulder. “Thank you, Dora. What would I do without you?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. Let’s bathe your face. You can’t go to Almack’s all tear-stained.”

“Never mind that, Dora. I need my riding habit and boots.”

“Now, miss? But you can’t, miss!”

Since Dora stood as if rooted to the floor, Patience went to the wardrobe herself and took out her habit. “Help me dress, Dora, for I swear, if I don’t ride, I might do something even more shocking.”

“Yes, miss. But what are you going to ride?”

“That’s all taken care of. Now hurry, Dora.”

Less than an hour later, she rode as sedately as she could manage down Park Lane and through the Stanhope Gate into Hyde Park. Upon entering the park, her swirling emotions calmed. Her shoulders relaxed, and the tension in her neck dissipated. She had needed this for so long. She wished she’d found the courage sooner.

She set Amelia’s horse into a canter, and then, as her confidence grew, she turned down Rotten Row. Long shadows from ancient trees along the lane seemed to reach for her, inviting her into their shelter. She looked ahead and found it splendidly free of carriages and fashionable riders. She longed to gallop, but if any censorious eyes were to recognize her, her reputation would be in shreds.

Fortunately, as it was long past the fashionable hour, the whole of society was now at home preparing for the long night ahead. There were still riders about and a few carriages strung out across the gravel path, but surely no one who would recognize her. Thanks to her aunt, her acquaintance was small.

Her father once said she had a devil in her that only a good gallop could control. She had never before felt the truth of his words as she urged the horse into a gallop. Her heart soared as the air blew over her flushed face. She flew along the wooden fence that bordered the lane, the pillars of shadow from the trees marking her speedy passage.

Then all at once, she saw another rider approaching her. She made the mistake of looking to see who it was and thereby met their curious gaze. She drew up sharply just as the other rider did, and they stared at each other. They were so close she could have reached out and touched the tall bay stallion with her riding crop.

Patience was quite used to fate’s cruelty, but did it have to be the very handsome, but very correct Lord Stanton, of all people? He was no more than an acquaintance, but his rigid propriety was legendary.

With her heart in her throat, she eyed him across their horses’ heads. Perhaps he wouldn’t recognize her? He’d barely seemed to notice her after their first introduction, though they had often been at the same balls and dinners through the season. He watched her with an impassive countenance, but his eyes gleamed with rays of the setting sun flashing in their depths. And then, he touched the brim of his hat, bowing his head slightly. “Miss Wendover, are you well?”

Patience blanched. It was no wonder he thought something must be wrong. Well-bred young ladies did not gallop through Hyde Park, especially without a groom.  One word from him and her reputation would be in shreds. Deciding the damage was done, her pride was too great for her to let him think she was not perfectly in control of the situation.

She forced a smile to her face and said, “I am better than I have been for weeks. Enjoy your ride, Lord Stanton, for I intend to enjoy the rest of mine.”

Lord Stanton studied her, as if intrigued. “Do not let me detain you.” He neither moved forward, nor broke eye contact with her, just waited, his gloved hands loosely holding the reins of his horse.

Silence hung between them for a moment, full of questions and surprise. Then with a nudge of her whip on the horse’s flank and a firm “Ha!”, Patience bent low as her horse plunged forward, breaking into a gallop again.

Chapter Two

Drawing up to the Albany on Piccadilly where he had hired a set of rooms, Lord Stanton gave his horse, Hermes, into the keeping of his groom and walked through the gate opened by the porter into the courtyard. A servant was already about the business of lighting the lamps around the courtyard, since the light was growing dim as evening drew nigh. Soon the place would bustle with the comings and goings of all the fashionable gentlemen who lived there as they went out seeking their preferred entertainment for the evening.

Stanton’s mind was full of the startling memory of Miss Patience Wendover tearing down Rotten Row in Hyde Park. The lady’s command of her mount and excellent seat were enough to catch any man’s attention, but when she had drawn up and met his eyes, he’d been spellbound by the play of emotions on her face. Shock, dismay, and then fire.

He was so preoccupied with his thoughts, in fact, that he did not at first see the gentleman awaiting him in front of the wide staircase in the entry hall. It was only when he went up two steps and heard a delicate cough that he turned and looked at the man. It was Mr. Viceroy, who had also hired rooms for the season, though in one of the stucco buildings that flanked the back garden, not in the main mansion, as he had.

His few encounters with the man had been pleasant enough but not memorable. They certainly did not hold any great degree of acquaintance, so he raised an eyebrow slightly. “Good evening, Viceroy. I’m sorry. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Of course, of course. You’re a busy man with a lot of responsibilities. I hesitate to intrude upon your time.”

Stanton studied him. Nothing about the man’s demeanor spoke of hesitancy. No, there was a great deal of determination about him. “Not at all. May I be of service to you?”

“Ah, your perception is keen,” Mr. Viceroy said, nodding his head in a very regal manner. “Might you, I wonder, be going to Almack’s this evening?”

“I had planned to, yes. Will I see you there?”

“No, that is just the trouble. My vouchers have been rescinded.”

Stanton was surprised to hear that. Mr. Viceroy was neither wealthy or fashionable, but his connections were unsurpassed. His family was related to several of the grandest names in the ton. “How did that happen? Didn’t I see you there just last week?”

“Lady Jersey is feuding with my mother, you know. And the devil of it is that I would give anything to attend this evening.”

“Oh? There is a particular reason for that, I presume.”

“Yes, a matter of some delicacy.”

Stanton felt a great deal of compassion for a man caught between two feuding women. It prompted him to ask, “May I may be of service somehow?”

“I had hoped you might. Your reputation as a man of unquestioned respectability is just what I need.”

Stanton narrowed his eyes. Too often, his reputation was a source of amusement among society rather than something of merit. “You alarm me.”

Viceroy laughed. It had a sort of calculating sound about it, as if no true mirth lay behind it. “No need to worry. It is only that I want an invitation to Lady Blakemore’s house party, and I thought perhaps you would be able to arrange for me to have one.”

Stanton stared at him, trying—and failing—to determine how Viceroy had landed on him of all people to request such a thing.

“It would be a favor I would repay with interest,” Viceroy said when Stanton didn’t answer, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity.

“I can’t promise anything, but I will see if anything may be done for you.” Stanton bowed and turned again to go up the stairs to his rooms.

When he arrived at Almack’s later that evening, he had very little intention of putting himself out for Viceroy. The only ambition he held was to dance with Miss Patience Wendover. How could two such opposite sides of one woman exist? Was she the retiring shadow at her aunt’s side or the fearless, intrepid horsewoman flaunting society’s strictures?

Though the refreshments at Almack’s were most often considered shabby, the company within its hallowed walls were the finest display of wealth and breeding to be found in England. In the sea of jewels and silks that filled the long ballroom, his eyes searched for one particular face. With the brilliant gleam of light from the enormous chandeliers overhead, he could easily see from one end of the room to the other, but the crowd was pressed too closely together to make out one young woman.

“Have you lost someone?” a sharp, elderly voice asked him.

Stanton turned and saw one of the dowagers seated along the wall, regarding him carefully. Her eyes were bright with interest, something which did not surprise him.  The Countess Du’Breven was just the person to help him. She was as observant as she was discreet.

“You cannot lose someone you have not yet found,” he said, bowing low over the hand she extended. “Good evening, Lady Du’Breven.”

“Stanton,” she said, bowing her head slightly as befit their difference in rank. “Come sit beside me. I’ve longed for better company all evening.”

Stanton looked to her right and saw that the fat gentleman seated beside her took as great offense as she likely intended him to. The man stood, bowed, and ambled away, wheezing indignantly. Stanton’s eyebrow twitched faintly upward.

The lady looked not at all ashamed. “Poor Bernard. But I couldn’t take another moment of his prosy wind-baggery. Sit down and I’ll help you find her before she sees you acting like a great looby over her.”

His lips twitched, but he was too accustomed to her way of speaking to bother protesting. “I would be honored to join you.”

As he sat down, his eyes had gone directly to the dancers before them, watching the weaving figures for a glimpse of Miss Wendover.

“Thinking of getting leg-shackled, are you?” she asked.

“I suppose most men think of it at some point, but I have not yet gotten that far.”

“Mucking up the courtship, are you? Well, I’m not surprised.”

Stanton shook his head. “You are laboring under a misapprehension. I have not yet begun to court any young lady. Indeed, I have not made up my mind at all.”

“Ignore your mind. If you don’t, you’ll end up with a genteel wife who pops out three girls before giving you an heir, spends all your money on feathers for her bonnets, and insults your neighbors.”

With great perplexity, Stanton tried to sort out what had inspired such a grave and outrageous foretelling but gave up. “If I’m not to be logical about this most important of undertakings, how am I make a decision?”

“Follow one of your more instinctive organs, dear boy. I suggest your heart, but men rarely show such good sense.”

He somehow contrived to keep his jaw from falling to the floor, but only barely. “Lady Du’Breven, I beg you to spare my blushes.”

“Then tell me who you are looking for.”

Clearing his throat, he asked, “Have the Wendovers come tonight?”

“I have not seen them yet. Is it the heiress or the beauty?”

“I have no need of a fortune.”

“Ah. Well, I admit I am disappointed. I expected that you would be after a girl with some wit and spark about her.”

Stanton laughed. “What’s this? Do I know more than the Countess for once? How shocking.”

“You have reason to believe differently?”

There was a note of pique in her voice that made him smile. “Oh, yes.”

The Countess straightened, a feat indeed, since her posture was already very correct. “Lord Stanton is smiling. Mercy.” She looked around the room. “Then come along, dear boy. We have work to do.”

She held up her hand, clearly requesting his assistance in standing, so he rose and gave his support. She straightened her skirts, adjusted the blue silk turban on her head, and took his arm. “Let us find Lady Blakemore.”

“As you wish, but how…”

“Don’t be daft, Stanton. The Wendovers are invited to her house party in less than a fortnight. You’ll want to be there, of course.”

Stanton bowed. “I shall indeed. How clever of you to know everyone’s plans.”

She sniffed. “I am invited there myself. Lady Blakemore is a lazy woman and knows I shall help to bring about a few matches. But she’s as pigeon-brained as she is indolent. I’ve had to manage her guest list, and I find it very taxing. I believe I would do better to hold my own house party next summer.”

“And you will find that less onerous?”

“Yes, for I shall have all my own servants to do the work. Ah, there is Lady Blakemore now.”

Stanton led the Countess up to Lady Blakemore and watched with amusement as they exchanged the proper civilities. It was clear that Lady Blakemore resented the Countess’s managing personality, but did not know how to stand up against her.

“I have brought Stanton to see you,” Lady Du’Breven said.

“Good evening, Lady Blakemore. It’s a pleasure,” Stanton said, bowing over her hand.

“Lord Stanton,” she answered, nodding regally.

“You must send him an invitation to your house party.”

Stanton raised an eyebrow at the Countess’s impropriety and felt distinctly uncomfortable. Lady Blakemore’s face had turned an alarming shade of red, and she began to babble.

“I would be pleased to…have…Lord Stanton…of course, but—"

“Do not distress yourself, dear lady,” Stanton interjected. “I know it would be the grossest imposition—”

“What nonsense,” the Countess said, breaking in. “You have only to invite another lady. And her mama of course. Which leaves us needing another gentleman.”

While Lady Blakemore looked on with popping eyes, the Countess looked over Almack’s ballroom for a likely candidate.

Thinking of Mr. Viceroy and throwing his normally precise manners to the wind, Stanton leaned down and whispered that gentleman’s name into the Countess’s ear. She turned to meet his eyes, looking intrigued, and then turned back to Lady Blakemore.

“I know just the gentleman. Mr. Viceroy will do very well to round out your numbers. Now come along, my dear, and let us discuss the details.”

The Countess let go of his arm and took Lady Blakemore’s, leading her away. But she paused to wink at Stanton and point an imperious finger towards something behind him. When he turned, he saw the face for which he’d been searching all evening.

The timing was perfect, as a new set was beginning to form. He stepped around a cluster of women gossiping and walked towards her. She stood next to her aunt and cousin, watching the couples forming around them for a waltz. As he got close, she looked his way, meeting his eyes. The look of apprehension in her eyes gave him pause. But his mind quickly found a possible answer.

Many would consider her gallop through the park to be improper, if not downright vulgar. Considering his lamentable reputation as a pattern card of propriety, no doubt she wouldn’t understand that he considered it the most singularly enthralling display he’d seen in his life. He moved forward, searching his mind for a way to put her at ease.

***

Patience’s heart fluttered like a wounded bird cornered by the kitchen cat. Was she about to be called out for her misconduct? What would her aunt do? Punish her or send her home in disgrace to live out a life of poverty?

Lord Stanton bowed to her aunt but shot a look her way as he did so. Her chest rose and fell in agitation as his eyes pierced her with the same enigmatic stare he had directed her way at the park.

After greeting her aunt, Lord Stanton turned towards her, tipping his head down towards her. Patience could not believe it. Nor, from the look on her face, could her Aunt Wendover. Usually when gentlemen of good breeding and fortune came up to them, Aunt Wendover was sure to make it impossible for the gentlemen to do other than to request Amelia’s hand. Indeed, as her aunt exchanged civilities with Lord Stanton, Patience could almost discern the calculations going on in her mind.

And sure enough, before Lord Stanton could say another word, her aunt said, “I’m so glad you have come to ask Amelia to dance. You shall surely be one of the finest couples on the floor.”

Lord Stanton’s expression was difficult to read as he bowed to Amelia and offered her his arm. The smug lift to Amelia’s eyebrows and the pleased smile on her face did not challenge her powers of discernment. Amelia resented her presence in their lives very nearly as much as her mother did. If only Amelia would understand how little she wished to compete with her.

And in this instance, particularly, Patience felt only relief that her cousin had been the one to secure a covetable dance partner. She was grateful for the escape, in case the man should refer to her foolish escapade, but she was disappointed to see that her uncle’s words had not made any impression upon his wife. She would never promote Patience’s chances over Amelia’s. Of course, her aunt was also angry with her for having made them arrive so late in the evening.

Her aunt’s voice was surprisingly cheerful now, however. “Well, Patience, we shall see what comes of that. He was great deal taken with her, do you not think?” her aunt asked.

Because Patience could hardly point out that Lord Stanton had not even glanced at Amelia until forced, she simply said, “Indeed.”

To her surprise, she felt oddly deflated as she watched Amelia dance with Lord Stanton. He was undeniably masculine with his tall frame and broad shoulders, but yet managed to maintain an air of elegance. Even with his somber eyes and grave expression, there was much about him to capture the attention of any woman. The though flashed through her mind that though her affections were very much attached to Lord Aston, it would be pleasant to dance with such an excellent partner.

Her aunt gasped. “I cannot believe they have permitted such a man to have vouchers. What are the patronesses thinking to set such a fox among the pigeons?”

Knowing she could not be speaking of Lord Stanton, Patience followed the direction of her aunt’s eyes. Lord Aston had arrived, looking like the hero from a gothic novel, his dark locks curling over his brow, his heavy-lidded eyes full of jaded boredom, and a carelessly tied cravat. “Perhaps he has charmed the patronesses.”

“No doubt he has done more than charm them. If he dares approach Amelia, he will be firmly snubbed for such impudence.”

With a flush on her cheeks that might give her away if her aunt should look at her, Patience said, “I don’t believe you need concern yourself. You snubbed him quite well the last time.”

Now, how could she escape from her aunt so that Lord Aston might have an opportunity to ask her to dance? She had no doubt he intended to do so. “Aunt, there is Harriet. I am going to speak to her.”

Her aunt nodded, keeping her eyes on Amelia and Lord Stanton as they twirled around the floor.

Lord Adlington, Harriet’s most constant suitor, stood by her side. They were talking quietly, casting meaningful glances at each other. No doubt if they could, they would dance every dance together. She hoped they would not mind too much when she joined them.

“Patience, my dear!” Harriet exclaimed, reaching out both hands to her. “You look lovely this evening.”

“You have seen me wear this gown on at least two other occasions.”

“Yes, well, you look beautiful in yellow. I’m sure I would look terrible if I attempted it.”

Patience smiled at her beautiful friend’s chatter and curtsied to Lord Adlington as he bowed to her. Behind them, the music came to a graceful close.

“I am sorry to interrupt you two, but I am escaping from my aunt for a moment.”

“Before she drives away any more potential dance partners? I saw what happened. Lord Stanton had me in raptures the way he approached you with such determined purpose. Why, the way he looked at you was so…revealing. And then your aunt outmaneuvered him.”

Patience hated that the color of her cheeks would likely betray her. “Lord Stanton is guided always, first and foremost, by his perfect manners.” And indeed, she desperately hoped his manners and sense of fair play would prompt him to keep her secret.

Just then, Harriet’s eyes grew wide, and she pressed her lips together as if trying to keep her own secret. She seemed to be looking over Patience’s shoulder. Curious as to what had caught her friend’s attention, Patience turned slightly and saw that Lord Stanton was approaching her. Taking a quick, sustaining breath, she turned to face him.

“Miss Wendover, perhaps I may now have the honor of dancing with the lady of my choice,” he said, with a sideways twist to his lips. It was not quite a smile, but it gave her an odd, fluttery feeling just the same.

Why did he affect her so?

Nodding, she gave him her hand and allowed him to lead her away. As they took their place in the formation for a country dance, he said, “My only regret is that I did not have the pleasure of waltzing with you. I hope the future will better reward me.”

His words made her errant heart flutter. She reasoned it away and looked for Lord Aston in the crowd to anchor it back to its true devotion. But then the movement of the dance brought her close to Lord Stanton, and she found herself more breathless than the exertion warranted. When his hand held hers as part of an intricate step, a thrill washed over her. She had never previously felt such a sensation except when on horseback and jumping a fence.

How was this possible? Did he feel it too?

His eyes seemed always to be looking for hers, even when he was separated from her for a turn.

How very odd.

She continued to wonder over it throughout the evening and did not realize until later, in the carriage on the way home, that Lord Aston had not once approached her.

Chapter Three

The last thing Stanton had wanted to do after the evening at Almack’s was return to his estate. Morefield Park was situated near Leicester, a journey he could make in one hard day or two easy stages, but never before had he felt the greatness of the distance as he did at this time.

He’d been raised at Morefield by his parents until he was shipped off for schooling at the age of twelve with his father’s injunctions to behave like a Stanton ringing in his ears. With decades of duty, thrift, and respectability bred into him—and as the only son of a kind but autocratic man— Stanton had merely watched the antics of his fellows at school and had participated only in the tamer schemes. Perhaps he was staid and circumspect to a fault, but he’d been bred that way. His family had never been heavily engaged in politics or society. Instead, they focused on their land and their people.

When his parents had both died of consumption during the winter of 1798 and he’d been planted firmly into his father’s shoes, he hadn’t resented it at all. It was natural for him to see to his duty. But he was self-aware enough to know that contentment was not necessarily happiness.

That desire for something more had led him to the city for the Season every year. He enjoyed the novelty of the metropolis in short visits, usually for no more than a month. He received more invitations than he could possibly accept and knew that he was considered to be a matrimonial prize. He was not at all adverse to the idea of finding a wife, so it didn’t bother him. After all, perhaps that ephemeral something he lacked was a family of his own.

He had never yet been tempted to pursue matters with any female, however, and always looked forward to returning home again. The rain and soil and coming harvest were always of more interest for him than the newest rage in waistcoats or whichever scandal was currently raising eyebrows over the teacups.

But today, for the first time, he regretted the end of the season—especially since he had to leave town before most of society. There were a dozen matters he needed to attend to before traveling to Sussex for the house party.

For three days, he worked from sunup till sundown, looking in on his tenants, riding over his estate, and discussing plans for the hay harvest with his land manager. But all too often his thoughts turned back to London.

When at last he was able to leave Morefield in the capable hands of his steward, he rode back to London with a sense of anticipation unsettling his usually placid nature. Riding hard and making only necessary stops to refresh himself and rest his horse, he rode through the city gates just before twilight. He left Hermes at the Reeve’s Mews, where he had hired a stable for the season, and walked the short distance to the Albany.

Worn as he was from the day’s ride, Stanton wanted nothing more than to seek his bed. Once in the courtyard, however, he found Mr. Viceroy leaning against a lamppost. Almost as if he were keeping an eye out for someone.

“Good evening,” Mr. Viceroy said.

“Yes, good evening.” Stanton moved to pass him but was not so fortunate.

“I was wondering, my lord, if you would care to have a drink with me.”

Repressing a sigh, Stanton gave a slight bow. “Much as I would like to, ordinarily, I am just returned from the country and not fit company tonight.”

“Nonsense. As if I cared for that. Come. A glass of brandy will do you well.”

Stanton could not deny it, for he had planned to have one of his own before retiring. “Very well. Thank you.”

Viceroy led the way to his door and held it wide for Stanton to enter. After following him inside, Stanton looked around the room, but there was little to draw his attention. There was very little furniture and only one small candelabra to light the room, but a tray with glasses was a welcomed sight.

“Please, have a seat,” Viceroy said, gesturing to the more comfortable of the two chairs pulled next to the little table.

“Thank you. To what do I owe this honor?”

Viceroy did not answer right away, taking a moment to pour Stanton a drink. As he handed it to him, Viceroy said, “Why, this is a celebration of sorts. I’ve received an invitation to the Blakemores’ house party. How did you manage to secure one for me?”

“By my great good fortune of counting Lady Du’Breven among my friends.”

Viceroy nodded thoughtfully. “A very useful connection to have.”

Stanton leaned back and sipped his brandy. “I am not in the habit of rating my friends according to their usefulness.”

The smile that lit the other man’s face then was the slightest bit condescending. “Then you do yourself a disservice. But while I am happy to avail myself of another’s good will, I dislike being in debt. Tell me in what way I may repay you.”

Shrugging, Stanton put his glass down on the table at his elbow. “I don’t care a farthing’s worth if you repay me. As it turned out, I too desired an invitation to the house party. With Lady Du’Breven’s help, it was a simple matter to arrange.”

“So you go to Sussex too. Well then, I shall have plenty of opportunities to pay my debt. Let’s drink to continued friendship.”

Stanton held out his glass for Viceroy to fill again. “You mean: to useful connections.”

Viceroy laughed. “Touché.”

When his glass was empty again, Stanton relaxed back into his seat and studied his host. The man was not handsome, but nor was he unattractive. Of average height and slim build, he was precisely the sort of man one might overlook. Indeed, there was nothing at all about him to make Stanton’s instincts prickle with caution, but prickle they did. He thought it would do well to pry a bit more.

“Tell me, why do you so wish to go to this particular house party?”

Viceroy studied him a moment. “I suspect that neither of us is at present eager to share our reasons.”

The man unnerved him, but at the same time commanded a measure of respect. “Well, whatever your reasons, I wish you success.”

Setting his empty glass down on the tray, Stanton reached out to shake Viceroy’s hand, who stood quickly.

“Will you not stay a while longer?” Viceroy asked.

“No, I thank you. A night’s rest will do me more good than even your fine brandy. Perhaps I shall see you again before I leave London in a few days’ time, but if not, I shall see you at the Blakemores’.” Stanton turned and walked toward the door, but Viceroy spoke once more.

“I would give you a word of warning before you go, Stanton.”

He turned reluctantly, curious despite the warning clench of his stomach. “And what is that?”

“She is infatuated with Lord Aston.”

Stanton considered him closely, but answered nothing.

Viceroy came up to him, at ease except for the slight stiffness in his shoulders. He wasn’t completely sure about the step he’d just taken into Stanton’s business, that much was certain. But even so, he continued, “You see, Lord Aston as been the subject of my…surveillance...for some time now. He has shown no signs of returning her feelings, but I thought you might wish to know the obstacle that lies ahead of you.”

Stanton took a deep breath before responding, taking care to rein in his temper. “You are careful not to speak her name.”

“To a man in love, a woman’s name is sacred. I understand that more than most. And yet, your mind flew instantly there though I did not say it.”

“If this is an attempt to repay your debt, I do not care for the currency.”

“Oh no. Rather, consider this a token of my well-wishes. I have eyes in many places, so you may consider my information credible. Do with it as you wish.”

Stanton narrowed his eyes. “I cannot help but think that you have some personal advantage to gain from any actions I might take.”

“Oddly enough, my lord, it is in some ways more advantageous for me to let her catch Lord Aston in her feminine wiles. However, I have a deep and abiding dislike for the man and will seem him brought low before I am done. This in no way includes allowing him such a delightful reward as that particular lady would be.”

White-hot anger vied with restraint in Stanton’s chest as his imagination jumped to picturing such a scene. The audacity of the man to suggest it, or indeed consider such a thing at all, irked him beyond bearing. Fortunately for Viceroy’s nose, restraint claimed the upper hand. “Then I shall give you a warning of my own, Viceroy—one which is surely more well-intentioned than yours. Keep your distance from this particular lady. You will not embroil her in whatever schemes you are hatching, or you will know my wrath as intimately as you seem to know my business.”

And on those words, Stanton left. He could feel Viceroy’s eyes on him as if two cinders from a hot fire had landed on his shoulders.

***

The next morning, restless and filled with anxiety, Stanton set out to restore order to his mind. After a hasty breakfast, he took a hack to the corner of Park Lane and Piccadilly and walked the short distance to Tattersalls. There he could be sure to find noise and distraction.

As he strolled under the covered walks that ran around the three-sided courtyard, he viewed the various thoroughbreds being paraded up and down its length for the consideration of the gentlemen fortunate enough to be in a position to purchase horses instead of being forced to sell them after settling up their gaming debts.

But even here in this masculine domain, he could not completely free his thoughts from their new fascination. He knew not whether Viceroy was right about Miss Patience Wendover, and he certainly did not know what he meant to do about it either way. He did know that she deserved better than Aston.

And thus, when a fine grey gelding was led in front of him, he couldn’t restrain his imagination from placing Miss Wendover upon his back. The horse she had ridden in the park that evening had been well enough, but not worthy of his rider. Here was an animal worthy of her.

Compelled by the image in his mind’s eye, Stanton followed the horse to the auctioneer’s podium. When the auctioneer began proclaiming the horse’s virtue, which included being trained to a lady’s sidesaddle, he found himself bidding. Possessed by a fervor unnatural to his usual prudence, he soon found himself the owner of a lady’s mount.

He dared not meet the curious stares he felt around him, gentlemen who wondered what use he might have for the horse. No doubt they assumed it would be for a mistress or, less-likely, for a sister. All he could think was that he was a fool.

After arranging payment for the horse and its stabling at Tattersalls, he sent for his groom. It took time for Silas to be fetched from the mews, so Stanton spent the time acquainting himself with the gelding, whose name was Tempest.

When Silas arrived, he ran his knowing eyes over the new horse and pronounced him a fine bit of blood and bone and added, “I ‘spose we’ll have to hire a man to take him to Morefield for you.”

“No,” Stanton said. “I intend to take him to Sussex with me in a few days.”

Silas gaped at him. “You’re never leaving Hermes behind?”

Stanton laughed. “Of course not. No, I am taking Tempest for someone else to ride. Do you suppose the stables at Oakcrest will be able to provide a sidesaddle?”

“No doubt they will, milor’.”

Stanton nodded, but one look at the stupefaction on Silas’s face made him laugh. “No need to worry, Silas. I haven’t gone mad yet—no matter the evidence to the contrary.”

Chapter Four

Patience watched the passing West Sussex landscape through the carriage windows. Aunt Wendover and Amelia dozed on the forward-facing seat opposite her. The movement of the carriage had lulled them to sleep, but Patience was too enraptured by seeing new country to be anything but exhilarated.

If only she could ride over it on horseback. She longed to race along the grassy pastures, explore the dips and hollows of the rolling hills, and hide herself in the ancient woods that crowned many of the slopes. It was a green world, fresh with sun-washed wildflowers and tall grasses undulating in the wind. An image of Lord Stanton in the park flashed through her mind. She had seen in just that brief meeting, his mastery and skill in the saddle. She imagined herself riding with him, bending low over her horse’s neck as she gave it free rein and reveling in the speed and power of her mount.

But then Aunt Wendover began to snore.

Patience sighed. Would she ever be free of her current life? No doubt Aunt Wendover would see her engaged to some dull gentleman by the end of this house party. Indeed, before they had left, Aunt Wendover had told her, “Patience, I expect you to make yourself agreeable at this party. Lady Blakemore has assured me that there will be several gentlemen who would be just the right sort for you.”

Patience had grown inured to the idea of her aunt forcing her to accept the engagement of some man she didn’t love. Indeed, her only hope was that the man would have a few good mounts in his stable and a pianoforte in his drawing room. Perhaps she could speak to her uncle about making those requirements part of the marriage contract.

It was early in the day, but they were not far from Oakcrest, the Blakemores’ country estate. They had stopped overnight only a few hours away from their destination so that Amelia might look her best when they arrived and not appear travel-stained and weary. Now, the carriage passed through a small village and then down a long drive with arching trees standing as silent sentinels on either side.

As the carriage slowed, her aunt and cousin woke up and looked around.

“We are there?” her aunt asked. “Gracious, I meant to spend the drive giving you girls final instructions. Why did you let me sleep?”

Patience bit her lip to keep from laughing. As if anything would have induced her to wake her aunt for the sake of being lectured. “I was glad to see you getting some rest, Aunt,” she said meekly, glad this was not precisely a lie.

“Well, listen closely now. Amelia, under no circumstances will you have anything to do with Lord Aston. I do not know what possessed Lady Blakemore to invite him. It isn’t as if he’d be an eligible parti for anyone. I’d bet my last groat she did so for her own amusement. Well, just mind yourself around him. And there will likely be many fortune hunters only too willing to get you in a compromising situation. These house parties are notorious for such things. Let me guide you, girl, and we’ll see you with a grand attachment within a week.”

“Yes, Mother,” Amelia said.

Patience glanced at her, narrowing her eyes slightly. Amelia’s biddable manner grated on her nerves. She knew her cousin was not the milk-and-water miss her parents thought her to be. Well, that was Amelia’s business not hers.

“And you, Patience, you will behave in a seemly manner and be pleasant to the gentlemen I approve. I’m determined to finish this business with finding you a husband. You will make a respectable match or find yourself shipped off home to your mother in disgrace.”

Patience was glad she knew her uncle’s intentions for her future, but her aunt truly did hold considerable power over her prospects. For after all, she must marry someone, and if it could not be Lord Aston, she’d prefer it not be someone she held in aversion. With her aunt set to arrange an engagement for her, the weeks ahead of her were fraught with treacherous waters.

“There’s the house,” Amelia said, a note of excitement in her normally dull voice. Facing forward, she had an advantage over Patience, who would have loved to see the much-admired seat of the Blakemore family.

But it wasn’t until Patience was being handed down out of the carriage by a footman that she was able to look around and admire it. Though the day was hot, the shade beneath the portico on the front of the house was welcoming. Carved Ionic pillars lined the front of the stately home which rose six stories over the manicured lawns and gardens. The main part of the house was flanked by wings on either side, and the number of windows glinting in the sun left her awestruck.

As they were ushered inside, Patience saw that they were not the only new arrivals. Bandboxes and trunks filled the marble hall while an army of servants scurried about. Their own servants and trunks would arrive soon in another carriage.

After being shown to their rooms to refresh themselves, they were led to the drawing room, where Lady Blakemore received them with a smile and warm welcome. She poured them each a cup of tea and invited them to help themselves to the pastries, fruits, and cold meats set out on a table for the sustenance of the arriving guests.

To Patience’s delight, Harriet was already there, seated next to her mama. As she sipped her tea, she turned her head to see who had arrived. Patience laughed softly when Harriet’s eyes landed on her and widened over the rim of her cup. She instantly rose, set her cup down on a table, and hurried to Patience’s side. Looping their arms together, she drew Patience over to sit on the window seat, where they would have some privacy from the rest of the room.

Patience smiled at her friend’s beaming face. “You have never been quite so happy to see me before. What news are you so anxious to tell me?”

“Adlington proposed, right when we arrived. He met us at the carriage door and pulled Mother and I into a sitting room as soon as we came inside He had already met with Father before leaving London, he said, and was determined to make sure of me before any other gentlemen arrived.” She giggled. “Mama hoped that coming to Lady Blakemore’s house party would induce him to hurry things along.”

Grasping Harriet’s gloved hands in her own, Patience said, “I’m so happy for you. You suit each other very well.”

“Yes, we do. I’m so delighted I haven’t stopped smiling since. The only thing that would make me happier is seeing you make a love match as well.”

Patience felt her smile falter and looked down quickly so she wouldn’t dim her friend’s joy. “That isn’t likely to happen.” Then, taking a deep breath, she looked up and smiled again. “But I am pleased that my dearest friend has been so fortunate. You mustn’t worry about me. Enjoy your time with your betrothed.”

“But what will happen to you after this party is over? I know your situation, and—”

Patience interrupted her. “Be calm. It isn’t as if I’m going to a debtor’s prison or a weaver’s hut. I’ll be well. Aunt Wendover says she’ll make a match for me before the end of this house party, and we both know how redoubtable she is.”

“Really? She hasn’t had the least regard for your prospects before now.”

“My uncle spoke with her. The thought of giving me another season has inspired her to make greater endeavors on my behalf.”

Harriet laughed and then pressed her fingers over her mouth to muffle it. “Well, perhaps I will endeavor, too. And we shall see which of us may have the most success. At least I have your future happiness at heart.”

Alarmed, Patience protested. “That’s very kind, but please, no matchmaking. It would be intolerable.”

“Well, we shall see. I heard Lady Blakemore say that Lord Stanton is coming.”

“Is he?” Patience asked, trying very hard to appear disinterested. Heaven help her though, her cheeks flushed under Harriet’s amused scrutiny.

“Yes, he is. And do not try to deceive me, even if you are deceiving yourself. You are not averse to him. He was certainly quite taken with you at Almack’s. You should at least consider him. Not only is he handsome and respectable, but he his wealthy enough to make up for his lack of title.”

“I have reason to believe that Lord Stanton would not consider me a proper match, so you may sweep that notion from your matchmaking mind.”

“No! What reason?”

Patience considered telling her about the incident in Hyde Park, but though she loved Harriet, she did not consider her to be discreet. “Never mind. Tell me who else will be here.”

Harriet was happy to list the guests, prattling on and on about them. “The Wyndhams shall be here with their son Charles. I believe the Emerys are coming but not for another day or so. Oh, some of Lord Blakemore’s old cronies are coming—Lord Anthony Gibbon and Sir George Hallister. But who cares about them? Mr. Viceroy and Lord Fortescue are coming, as well as Lord Aston.”

Lord Aston. Just hearing his name thrilled her. Not only would he be here, but he intended to steal her away. The anticipation of such a moment was almost as delightful as she was sure it would actually be.

“And where are all of these fine gentlemen?” Patience asked, looking about the drawing room, which held only scattered groups of gossiping women.

“Stanton and Aston are not yet arrived, but the others are being entertained by Lord Blakemore in his library. Something about how gentlemen would prefer a draft of ale to tea. Adlington is there now, but we have already determined to sneak away for a walk shortly. Tell me you’ll come with us. Otherwise Mama will send her maid to chaperone us, but I’d much rather have you along.”

“No doubt you would,” Patience agreed wryly. Walking with two newly affianced lovers was not her ideal way to spend the afternoon, but neither was sitting around in a drawing room. “I would be delighted to explore a bit, so I’d be happy to accompany you.”

Later, as they traversed the north side of the gardens, she was glad of her decision when she saw a rider taking a short cut across the hill behind the estate. She immediately recognized both the beautiful bay stallion and his rider.

“There’s Stanton,” Lord Adlington said, catching sight of the rider as well. “I’ll say this—he may be a bit stodgy, but by Jove, he’s a clipping rider. I doubt there’s a man with a better seat in all of England.”

Patience did not utter a word. She couldn’t. She was too torn between striking admiration for Lord Stanton’s mastery over his high-bred mount and rising panic that he was here. Panic because he could still expose her secret...and because her heart betrayed entirely too much enthusiasm at seeing him again.

Before she could make sense of this, Harriet grabbed her arm and shook it. “There, now, Patience. I told you he would be here.” She leaned closer and murmured. “Now you shall see that I was right about his interest in you.”

“Nonsense,” she whispered back sharply. “I am certain he’ll take no note of me. I’m certainly beneath his notice. And even if he did, well, I desire more in a husband than a man who doesn’t like to smile.”

Chapter Five

It was a hot, dusty ride for Stanton, and only the desire to arrive at Oakcrest in time to change before dinner kept him from stopping at a tavern along the way to rest and enjoy a tankard of cool ale. As he approached the estate from the north in the late afternoon, however, and saw Patience watching him from the gardens with Lord Adlington and Miss Percy, he was pleased with his decision to press on.

As he rode by them, he tipped his hat, and responded to Adlington’s shouted greeting by saying, “Join you shortly.”

Patience was as still and quiet as a garden statue. He wished he could have seen more of her expression, but the sun was high overhead and her face shaded by the brim of her bonnet.

As soon as he had found the stables and left Hermes with the groom, he made his way back to the gardens, despite being rather travel-worn. His father would have been floored to see his son approaching a lady in such a state, but Stanton found himself doing many odd things of late.

The crunch of his footsteps on the gravel path alerted his quarry to his approach. They turned and waited for him.

“Stanton, it’s good to have you here,” Adlington said, shaking his hand. “You may wish me happy.”

Stanton looked between him and Miss Percy, not at all surprised but pleased to see the happiness on both their faces. “I do wish you happy. And you as well, Miss Percy.”

Miss Percy gave him her hand to kiss. “Why, thank you, Lord Stanton. Nothing pleases us more than the well-wishes of our friends—except perhaps to have them to find such happiness as well.”

Stanton nearly smiled at the silent communication that then transpired between Patience and Miss Percy, but forbore when he saw her glaring daggers at her friend.

“Miss Wendover,” he greeted her, keeping his voice calm and easy.

“Lord Stanton.” She gave a small curtsey.

There was a moment of silence before Miss Percy broke it, “There, Patience. I was just feeling sorry that Lord Adlington and I were neglecting you, but now Lord Stanton may keep you company.”

Again, he intercepted a meaningful exchange of looks between the friends. Not sure if he was amused or annoyed that Patience resented this overt attempt at matchmaking, he offered his arm. “It would be my pleasure, Miss Wendover. If you’ll forgive my current state of dress.”

She smiled politely and placed her gloved hand on his forearm with a featherlight touch. “I am not at all concerned, being an avid horsewoman myself.” Upon which, her eyes widened and her cheeks reddened. She bit her lip and turned her face away.

Lord Adlington and Miss Percy were already some distance away, very much due to the resourceful Miss Percy, he was sure.

Finding himself relatively alone with Patience for the first time, he determined to take advantage of the opportunity to ease her mind about the incident at Hyde Park, perceiving that it was the source of awkwardness between them. “Miss Wendover, I wanted to—"

“Oh dear,” she interrupted. “I’m afraid I really cannot go around again. The heat and all this bright light are giving me a headache.”

Accepting this rebuff with good grace, he said, “Then let me take you inside at once.”

“But Harriet’s mama wouldn’t approve of her being left alone with Lord Adlington.”

“Alone? With gardeners working diligently around every corner and fifty or so windows overlooking the garden? I think we can leave them to enjoy their walk with perfect decorum. Besides, I’m sure they are wishing us at the devil.”

“Well, if you say the proprieties will be satisfied, who am I to object?”

Stanton stopped. Since her arm was still in his, the movement tugged on her, and Patience turned to see why, her brows drawing together in an unspoken question.

“Ah yes,” he murmured. “I understand. The starched-up Lord Stanton. Of course.” Why did it sting so much more coming from her? He began walking again, leading her back toward the house.

“I didn’t call you so.”

“Not out loud,” he agreed gently.

“Does it bother you to be thought of that way?”

“Not normally, but at this moment, yes.”

“I assure you…” She paused and then began again. “Truly, I…”

Stanton held up a hand to forestall her. “Please, never mind. It was wrong of me to make such a point of it. I pray you will forget it.”

She frowned and pressed her lips together. “I’m afraid I cannot. Please believe that I think very highly of you. Of all the gentlemen I know, you are the most…”

When she did not finish, he could not resist prompting her to continue. “The most what?”

“Pleasant.”

He sighed. Clearly, he had a task before him. As they reached the front door of the house, he paused a moment. “Well, do not worry, Miss Wendover. There are several gentlemen invited to the house party that are certain to be much more exciting than I am.”

“I…” But at that moment, a watchful footman admitted them inside, and she could say no more in front of the servant.

The cool interior was welcome, despite the stuffy air. Stanton felt the prickle of sweat beneath the brim of his hat and removed it with relief. He looked about for the footman, hoping to be directed to his room. At that moment, however, Patience untied the ribbon of her bonnet and pulled the lovely confection of ribbon and silk flowers from her head. With a jolt, he realized that she was indeed overheated.

“Lord Stanton, I…”

He shook his head and interrupted her. “Please, Miss Wendover, do not waste another moment of concern on me. Rather, think of yourself. You’re quite pale though your cheeks are flushed from the heat.”

“I do feel poorly,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment. “I believe I will retire to my room.”

“Yes, do. Will you be all right to walk there, or do you need assistance?”

“I shall be quite all right, though if you could have someone send my maid to me?”

“Certainly,” he said, still trying to determine if she was alright to go alone.

She nodded and went two steps up the grand staircase and then turned and held out her hand to him. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing you at dinner.”

He bowed and received her hand in his. “I hope you will feel well enough to join us. Please do not overtax yourself.”

She chuckled, surprising him. “Oh, I am stronger than you realize. Do not give me another thought.”

Impossible.

Their gazes held for a long moment, her hand still in his. Seeming suddenly to realize this, she pulled it back as if startled and fled up the stairs.

***

Was he flirting? Surely not.

But that look in his eyes—his hand clasping hers in more than a polite handshake.

Patience’s thoughts tumbled and fluttered as she hurried down one long corridor and halfway down another to the bedchamber she had been allotted. As she stepped into the dim coolness of her room, she still felt a tingling sensation in the fingers of her right hand. She looked down at them with a frown, as if they would show some outward sign of the odd reaction they were having to Lord Stanton’s touch.

Sighing and shaking her head, she pulled off her gloves and tossed them, along with her bonnet, on the bed. Sitting down at the vanity, she looked in the mirror and pulled the pins from her hair, hoping to relieve the strain. She truly did have a headache blooming between her eyes.

As her dark curls tumbled down her back, she saw that she was indeed pale with two bright spots of color burning high in her cheeks. Certainly she was flushed, though not just from the heat. But surely this feeling couldn’t be attraction for Lord Stanton. He was so…stolid. And more to the point, her heart already belonged to Lord Aston. Didn’t it? She thought of her note, the one she had saved and treasured, and was reassured. She would have taken it out and read it to further ease her mind, but her maid Dora came in just then, carrying a tray.

“Oh, miss, I heard you were feeling poorly.” She sat the tray down on the table next to the settee and came toward her, still talking. “That nice Lord Stanton asked for lemonade to be sent up for you. So thoughtful, don’t you think?”

“Yes. Very,” Patience answered faintly.

“May I help you out of your dress, miss, so that you can lie down?”

Patience stood, and Dora got to work. With her day gown off, Dora hung it in the large wardrobe and came back holding out a light, embroidered dressing gown. Patience slipped her arms through the sleeves and wrapped it about herself before sitting on the settee to sip her lemonade.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, miss? Would you like a headache powder?”

“No, thank you, Dora. I’ll just finish this and lie down to rest until it is time to prepare for dinner. Will you let my aunt know, so she doesn’t wonder when I miss tea?”

Dora bobbed her head as she straightened the mess of pins on the vanity. “I will, miss. Right away.”

“Thank heavens this room is on the east side of the house so that it’s cool in the afternoon,” Patience said. Being a country girl, she had gotten in the habit of talking with her maid, who sometimes chattered in return when they were alone.

“Yes, miss. It is very hot today. The kitchen staff all look like boiled lobsters.”

“Oh dear. How horrid for them.”

“Yes, miss, very. The scullery maids have their skirts tucked up in their garters to cool off, and the footmen are finding every excuse to visit the kitchen. I’ll leave you now. When would you like me to wake you?”

“Not until you absolutely have to.”

Dora curtsied and said, “Yes, miss,” in a perfectly demure and respectful voice, but Patience caught the grin on her face as she slipped out the door.

As soon as the door closed behind the maid, Patience stood and returned to the vanity, where she searched through her little trinket box. She pulled out the folded piece of paper she was looking for and carried it to the window.  After unfolding it, she held it up to the light coming through the parted drapes. She knew the words by heart, but she loved to see the careless, masculine letters of Lord Aston’s handwriting.

Patience sighed, barely able to breathe for the swelling of her heart. Lord Aston was terribly dashing with his teasing smile and seductive eyes. Well, she had overheard Lady Wyndham say that Lord Aston could seduce a woman with his eyes alone, and indeed, though Patience only vaguely understood what she meant, Lord Aston’s blue eyes were terribly beautiful and wicked.

He had not approached her at all since the note had been delivered. Well, of course he couldn’t, she reassured herself. That was why the note had said he would steal her away at the house party. How exciting that would be. She had imagined it over and over again. Perhaps he would lead her down a secret path in the garden and kiss her beneath a rose-covered arbor or arrange a secret meeting in the conservatory where he would hold her in his arms and rail at the fates that they could never have more.

For Patience was not a fool. As much as she might want to marry Lord Aston and enjoy a lifetime of thrilling romance, it could not be. Neither of them had any fortune, and though she might be willing to try it, she knew Lord Aston could never live in reduced circumstances.

No, they would love from afar, knowing that they could never be more.

Sighing again, this time with resignation, Patience folded her letter. At least she would see him at this house party and, perhaps, even steal a moment away with him to exchange vows of constancy, whatever their situations held in store for them.

The pain that resulted from these imaginings was so sweet and exhilarating that instead of returning the note to her trinket box, she tucked it safely into the bodice of her stays. Yes, perhaps she would be forced to marry against her will, but for the next week, she would find what joy she could.

Chapter Six

With Patience’s opinion resounding through his memory, Stanton made his way to the drawing room that evening, more determined than ever upon his course of action.

A quick survey of the room showed him that she was not yet among the company. Never one to neglect his manners, however, he greeted his hostess and moved toward Lady Du’Breven, who was seated in grandeur at the far end of the room in a gilt Queen Anne chair.

He bowed over her hand. “So, Countess, what mischief shall I expect from you while we are here?”

“I don’t intend to do anything but seek my own entertainment,” she said sharply, but with bright, twinkling eyes.

He smiled down at her, deeply amused. “Since you are never more entertained than when you are meddling, and since you’ve confessed as much to me already, you may dispense with these whiskers.”

“And you quit your teasing, handsome sir. I never have understood why you smile so seldom. It even makes me flustered, and I’ve been loved by much more charming men than you.”

He sat beside her. “I am sure of it and insist you tell me about all of them.”

But at that moment, Patience entered the drawing room, stealing his attention away with no more than a glance of her eyes in his direction.

But her gaze did not linger on him. It swept about the room, landing nowhere, and then turning toward the floor. She was looking for someone, that was certain, but hadn’t found them. Her brows drew together ever so slightly, but in no other way did she betray her disappointment.

She followed her aunt and cousin to an empty settee, but before she could sit down, Stanton rose and intercepted her. “How are you this evening, Miss Wendover?” he asked, bowing. “Quite recovered from our afternoon walk?”

As she curtsied and offered him her hand, she smiled sweetly. “Indeed, I am much better.”

Stanton held her gaze, hoping to find a spark of the fire he’d once seen there. “I am very pleased to hear it.”

Patience lowered her lashes, looking away first. She glanced up at him once more before she stepped back and sat beside her cousin.

“Ah, the lovely Wendover ladies,” said a masculine voice behind him.

Stanton stepped back and watched as Lord Fortescue, a dandy in a vermillion waistcoat and doused with scent, made his leg before the ladies. It was an elaborate show which made Stanton wince but Mrs. Wendover looked quite pleased.

Despite being a bit lanky and sallow skinned, it was Patience’s cousin, Amelia, who held Lord Fortescue’s attention.

It was odd, Stanton thought, to see Amelia given so much attention and fawned over when Patience sat next to her. Her dark hair gleamed in the candlelight, and her figure was such as would draw any man’s notice. It drew his far too often. With her flawless complexion and lovely brown eyes the color of strong tea, the contrast between the two was impossible to miss. And yet, since her cousin was wealthy and Patience was not, it was the other Miss Wendover that was so much courted. It was painful to watch—so much so that it was all he could do not to sneer at Fortescue’s falsity.

As Lord Fortescue flirted and Patience’s cousin simpered, Stanton heard one of the other guests ask Lady Blakemore, “Where has Lord Aston gotten to, I wonder. Wasn’t he due to arrive this evening?”

No, Stanton did not imagine the way Patience lifted her chin slightly as she waited to hear the reply, though her eyes stayed lowered in the direction of her slippered feet.

Lady Blakemore closed her lips tightly. “I’m afraid I couldn’t say, but now our numbers will be uneven for dinner.”

Just then there was an interruption in the hall outside and the butler opened the door, announcing, “Lord Aston.”

With supreme indifference that he was walking into a lady’s drawing room in dusty boots and a driving cloak, Lord Aston strolled in, completely at his ease and sure of his welcome. Stanton watched with raised brows as he bowed before Lady Blakemore with an exaggerated flourish and kissed her hand.

“My most abject apologies, dear lady. I fear I was detained on the road.”

As Lady Blakemore accepted Aston’s effusive kiss, Lord Fortescue asked, “Ain’t been held up by highway men have you?”

Lord Aston chuckled and lowered his lashes as some of the ladies in the room gave squeals of distress. “No, no, nothing so dangerous. Merely a herd of sheep with an impudent shepherd.”

“Surely that could not have made you so late if you had left in good time,” Stanton remarked, surprised at himself for engaging in the conversation.

Lord Aston, too, looked surprised. He raised one black brow and said, “You misjudge the situation. It was not a brief delay. Indeed, I couldn’t have pressed through that mob with less than a full artillery of canons. It was a veritable river of dirty wool between the two high banks of the road.”

“I know just the spot,” Lord Fortescue put in cheerfully.

With a graceful gesture of one white hand, Lord Aston acknowledge this show of support. Then he turned his most winning smile to Lady Blakemore again. “Indeed, if the sheep had held me up a moment longer, I would have brought a side of mutton for your table just to assuage my temper.”

“Well, I am glad you are well,” Lady Blakemore answered, “but I’m afraid we cannot wait dinner for you. My cook would have an apoplexy.”

“No need for that. With your leave, I’ll change and join you shortly.” And then, with no sign of embarrassment or contrition, Aston bowed again and left the room quickly.

Lady Blakemore rose and said, with a dry attempt at humor, “Well, we shall see if he makes it before the second course. Blakemore, if you would give the Countess your arm, we will move to the dining room.”

When the company was seated at the table, Stanton found himself seated across from Patience, and though he could not speak to her, he was content at least to have an unobstructed view.

Lord Adlington sat next to her, but when he turned from her to speak to the lady on his other side, Patience looked across the table. Stanton met her eyes squarely, daring to let her read what she may from his expression. She glanced down at her still empty plate, but only for a moment.

Then Lord Aston came in and stole her attention. Indeed, he attracted everyone’s attention as he strolled in with a hastily tied cravat and a devil-may-care smile. The room grew quiet, and a footman rushed forward to pull his chair out for him. Lord Aston eyed the joint of mutton being offered to him and said, “Ah, there is some justice in the world, then.” At which jest, the company laughed and returned to their conversations.

Four courses later, the ladies withdrew from the room and the port was laid on the table before Lord Blakemore. Stanton resigned himself to his fate. Besides Adlington, he had no friends among the company. Charles Stanley was a pleasant enough man but a great deal younger than himself. Besides those two gentlemen, he was forced to bear the company of such men as Aston and Fortescue, who made even Viceroy seem appealing despite being a crafty scoundrel. The remainder of the gentlemen were older cronies of Blakemore and drew closer around the host to discuss politics.

Fortescue sipped his port and smiled at Aston. “You, my friend, must be at point-non-plus to be at such a gathering as this.”

Aston leaned back and turned sideways to face him, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “Must I?”

Fortescue smiled, his eyes narrowing. “No? So you are here instead of at the Newmarket meeting, because…?”

Now Aston’s eyes narrowed. “And why are you here, Fortescue?”

Stanton watched as Lord Fortescue laughed merrily and set his empty glass on the table. “Oh, I’m here for the heiress. I had a feeling you might give me some competition for Miss Wendover’s favor, but it seems I was mistaken.” He raised an eyebrow, baiting the other man.

Aston held his glass up, and Stanley passed him the decanter. After filling his glass, he said, “Miss Wendover would be a prize for any man’s pocketbook. What a shame it is that we have before us two Miss Wendovers, one with wealth and one with beauty. If the two could be combined, I might indeed be tempted.”

His muscles growing taut at hearing Patience’s name bandied across the table, Stanton frowned and twirled the tawny liquid in his glass.

Fortescue looked at Stanton, as if suddenly aware he was at the table. “And what about you, Stanton? Got a filly picked out?”

Stanton raised an eyebrow and studied the man until he shifted in his chair. Only then did Stanton answer, “You know better than to ask me such a question.”

Perhaps sensing the tension at the other end of the table, Lord Blakemore stood. “Well, gentlemen, shall we join the ladies? Lady Blakemore was quite insistent that we not linger too long.”

As they strolled leisurely out of the dining room and made their way to the drawing room, Mr. Viceroy came up beside Stanton. In a quiet voice he said, “Pity Aston found his way here. I had hoped the sheep might detain him for the night.”

Stanton paused, eyebrows raised as Viceroy passed on without another word. Beginning to believe he had seriously underestimated the man, he determined to avoid him if possible.

Viceroy seated himself at Lady Blakemore’s side, engaging her in conversation. Stanton gave him one straight look and then seated himself across from Patience and her friend Miss Percy. The image of a demure young debutante, Patience barely took her eyes off the carpet, making it rather difficult to converse with her. No doubt if he attempted to do so in this present company, he would receive nothing but polite nonentities in return.

When the gentlemen were all seated, Lady Blakemore said, “Oh, Miss Wendover, will you please sing for us? You have such a lovely voice.”

Stanton watched as Patience looked up, her expression strained, but it was Amelia who stood and moved across the room to the pianoforte. Lady Blakemore’s brows drew ever so slightly together. Stanton nearly laughed as he realized that she had forgotten there were two Miss Wendovers in the company and had not meant Amelia.

Mrs. Wendover reached across the sofa and tapped Patience’s arm before motioning her to the pianoforte. “Well, go along, girl. You know Amelia needs you to accompany her.”

Patience stood and walked quickly to take her seat on the bench, receiving the sheet music her cousin had chosen with barely a glance to see what she was being asked to play. With deft fingers, Patience played the aria Amelia had chosen, and much to Stanton’s amusement, even changed keys frequently as Amelia failed to stay in tune. When the song was over, there was a second’s pause before those in the room applauded and complimented her. Amelia stayed next to the piano as if waiting to be asked to sing another, but when no one encouraged her to do so, she frowned and hurried back to her mama’s side.

“Miss Wendover,” Lord Fortescue said, rambling toward the pianoforte. “Would you be kind enough to accompany me?”

“Of course, my lord,” she said. “What would you like to sing?”

Lord Fortescue sifted through the collection of music provided for the guests on a nearby table. “Come help me choose.”

Patience rose from the bench and joined him at the table, bending over the music while Fortescue stood back and watched, his quizzing glass trained on the gentle slope of her neck and shoulders, though he stood at such an angle that none of the eagle-eyed mamas could see his impropriety.

“Here is The Soldier’s Adieu,” she said, turning with the music. Her arm knocked into Lord Fortescue’s because he had been standing so close, and the music fell from her hand, fluttering under the table.

Stanton stood immediately to assist her, but she was quick in retrieving it, so he sat back down. But sitting still was torture when he felt more like having a good turn-up with Fortescue in the stable yard instead. Blackening his eyes might inhibit their tendency to wander.

When Fortescue had finished and the company duly applauded him, Mrs. Percy encouraged her daughter to play. Blushing, but willing, Miss Percy arose. She was joined by her intended in the difficult choice of choosing music from the large selection Lady Blakemore had provide, and the two stood for some time with their heads together, sifting through the pages. At last making her choice, Miss Percy seated herself at the pianoforte, and Adlington hovered behind her to turn her pages. She performed an Italian aria rather well and proved to have a well-trained voice.

“Oh, please say you’ll sing another,” Lord Adlington said. “Here, I’ll choose something for you.” Moving toward the table again, he paused. “What’s this?” Bending down, he picked up a small piece of intricately folded paper and opened it. “Well, how vastly interesting. It is a love note. It must have been dropped here by someone. I wonder who.”

“Oh, what does it say?” Miss Percy asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Shaking the paper delicately, Adlington read in a dramatic voice:

Darling girl,

I can no longer restrain the confessions of my heart. I am yours, fair one, in whatever way you will accept me. Do I dare hope you feel this same torment of passion? I must know. Trust me to find a chance to steal you away at a certain house party we are both invited to, and you may tell me with your own sweet lips.

A collective gasp went around the room, and a bubble of conversation rose and broke over the company.

“I say,” Adlington said merrily. “This is a scandalous bit of nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” Miss Percy asked. “I think it is vastly beautiful. Who can it belong to?”

Stanton shook his head in disapproval. Whoever had written the note cared very little for the reputation of the lady he claimed to love. And which party had lost it? If it was the lady, he hoped she would not be made to regret the imprudence of carrying such a condemning letter around with her.

Then his eyes fell on Patience, and his heart sank. He knew immediately from the strained paleness of her face that she had been the one carrying it.

Gone was his aloof criticism. Now he felt nothing but a fierce instinct to shield her from the eager scrutiny of the scandalmongers thronged about her.

Chapter Seven

Patience could not imagine a more disastrous turn for the evening to take. Her stomach had turned into a hard knot of apprehension as soon as Lord Adlington had picked up her note. It must have fallen out of her bodice when she had bent to pick up the sheet music, and it wouldn’t take long for everyone present to realize that it must have been hers. What a fool she was to have kept it with her instead of locking it back in her trinket box.

And what must Lord Aston think of her? Looking across the room, she saw that the gentlemen was studying the shine on his boot. His wavy, disordered locks had fallen forward across his brow, and his jaw was set. It seemed to her that he was carefully avoiding even a glance in her direction. Patience longed to cover her cheeks with her hands, for they were feeling quite warm, but she could not betray her agitation.

Lord Fortescue took the note from Lord Adlington and examined it eagerly. “Well, whoever wrote this note is lost to the art of subtlety.”

“It’s practically a proposal of marriage,” Lady Blakemore exclaimed.

“Seems to hint at something far different to me,” Sir George said with a knowing expression.

Miss Percy clasped her hands against her bosom. “Oh, this is too exciting. Who can it belong to? And who could have sent it?”

“It must have been dropped by someone at this table. Now, there were not many of us…”

“I was there,” Miss Percy said, helpfully.

Pausing, Lord Fortescue raised an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, but as you are affianced to Lord Adlington. If the note was yours, it would make this sadly respectable.”

She blushed. “No, you mistake me. It is not mine. I doubt Adlington would know the first thing about writing a love note.”

Lord Adlington, who stood behind her, looked down, his eyebrows drawing together. “I most certainly could.”

“Then why haven’t you?” she asked, making the company laugh at his obvious discomfiture.

“Well…” he floundered a moment. “Because I have no need to write of my affection when I may tell you myself.”

“That leaves the Wendover ladies,” Fortescue said, his eyebrow quirked in their direction, his thin lips twisted in a teasing smile.

“How dare you, sir?” Mrs. Wendover gasped. “As if either of them would think of receiving such a thing. I daresay one of you gentlemen was carrying it around in your pocket.”

As she spoke, Lord Aston stood and strolled over to take the note from Lord Fortescue. He studied it for a moment. “Well, it looks to be written in a gentlemen’s hand—it is very fine.”

Patience just managed to suppress a gasp at his audacity. For a brief moment, her heart had pounded in expectation––and hope––that he was going to acknowledge himself as the author and publicly declare his love for her. But as romantic as that would have been, she was thankful he had chosen keep their secret. At least, she told herself she was thankful.

“And my word,” Aston continued, “It must have been read over again very often. Look at how thin the paper is at the folds.”

Fortescue took the note back from Aston. “It certainly is. And look, the lady is addressed as “fair one” so perhaps that is a clue.”

Countess Du’Breven tapped her ring against the arm of her chair, drawing everyone’s attention. Her voice wobbled slightly, and she scowled. “There you go, then, my fine gentlemen. You may safely discount any of the ladies in the room who is not a beauty. Of all the nonsense.”

Lord Stanton spoke into the awkward silence that followed this pronouncement. “Fair may refer to her complexion or hair color.”

Surprised to hear him participating in the discussion, Patience frowned in disappointment. She had thought him above trying to ferret out a scandal.

Lord Fortescue smiled and bowed to Amelia. “There are several ladies in the room who are fair by both meanings.”

Mr. Viceroy sat at his ease next to Lady Blakemore, a slight smile curling his lips. “It is clear, to any person of sense, that the important clue is that the gentlemen seems to be quite certain he has no means to win her by a proper courtship. One has to wonder if she is of higher station than he.”

“Or if there is a lack of fortune concerning him,” Amelia said, glancing sideways at Patience.

Patience pretended as if her cousin’s words meant nothing to her, but as she looked away, she saw that Lord Stanton was looking at Amelia with an expression of dislike.

Before anyone could conjecture further, Lady Blakemore walked over to Lord Fortescue and held out an imperious hand. “Please give me the note,” she said.

Fortescue bowed and gave the creased paper into her keeping, while Lord Aston looked on with a taut expression.

With deft fingers, Lady Blakemore folded it again and placed it upon the mantle over the fireplace. “It shall remain here until the owner is able to retrieve it at their discretion.”

Patience relaxed a bit and, for the first time since it had been discovered, hoped that she might be able to have the note in possession again. At which moment, she would promptly burn the thing.

The tea tray came in then, offering a diversion from the note. As the company settled into private conversations, Lord Fortescue moved a chair closer to the settee where he spoke only to Amelia. Patience, who sat between them, felt trapped. She sipped her tea and wished to be almost anywhere but here, privy to the dull exchange of false compliments and nasal titters.

Then Lord Stanton stood before her. “Pardon me, but Countess Du’Breven wishes to visit with Miss Wendover.” When Amelia made as if to rise, he added, “I’m sorry… Miss Patience Wendover.”

“Ah, yes,” Amelia said, looking relieved.

Feeling a lift in her spirits, Patience smiled and rose. Anything was better than witnessing Lord Fortescue pay her cousin flowery and insincere compliments. She walked with Lord Stanton over to an empty settee near Lady Du’Breven. As she sat down, she saw that the Countess, whose back was to the rest of the room, was asleep.

“May I warm your tea?” Lord Stanton asked.

Patience looked quizzically between him and the Countess. “But she’s asleep.”

“A perfect cover, don’t you think? Your tea?”

“Oh. Yes, please.”

Patience adjusted the skirt of her second-best evening gown, a pale blue satin with a net overlay that had not suited Amelia’s sallow complexion and had been handed over to her. She had been determined to wear something flattering tonight for the purpose of charming Lord Aston, and now, not only was he unlikely to seek her out, but she was hidden from the room in this secluded corner. But with all the speculation over the letter, perhaps this was a blessing.

Lord Stanton returned with her tea and sat down beside her. She was surprised at how near he was, only a few inches away. But it was a small settee. There was no reason for her to blush at the way she could feel his warmth and smell his scent of sandalwood and leather. For the first time, she felt a bit nervous around this gentleman. Had he always been this tall and broad?

Patience forced herself to relax by taking a deep breath. She sipped her hot tea, and thought that at least she could count on Lord Stanton not to discuss the love note with her. He wasn’t the sort to gossip.

He bent close to her and murmured, “Now, Miss Wendover, what are we going to do about that love note of yours?”

She took a deep breath of surprise, which was unfortunate, since she had also just taken a sip of tea. Choking, she began to cough, desperately trying to keep her lips pressed together so she didn’t get tea on her dress. Her eyes were closed tightly, but she felt her tea cup being taken from her hand and replaced with fabric. Peeking at it, she held the handkerchief to her mouth and was soon able to clear her lungs.

With her eyes watering, Patience hunched her shoulders as she felt everyone looking at her. She wiped her eyes and opened them to glare at Lord Stanton.

He smiled at her and said over his shoulder, “You needn’t worry, Mrs. Wendover. Your niece is breathing again.”

“No doubt she was excessively concerned,” Patience said softly.

“Well, I did her the courtesy of letting everyone believe she was. I am sorry I surprised you. I should have timed that better.”

“What makes you think the note belongs to me?” Patience asked, knowing that the time for denial was passed—and that it was unlikely that she could have lied convincingly anyway.

Lord Stanton’s expression grew serious. “You will learn, Miss Wendover, that I am very observant. You will also learn, I hope, that I can be trusted.”

Patience shook her head and smiled softly. “I already know that to be true. I have not forgotten how you kept my secret that day in the park.”

“That you ride a horse as well as any cavalry man?”

“More that I was galloping in a very improper way because I believed it to be too late in the day for anyone to spy me.”

“It was a lovely and revealing sight, let me tell you.”

“Revealing?”

“Yes, I learned more about you that morning than I could have during any dance or morning visit. And that is how I know you have the courage to survive this. I will not ask impertinent questions, but will you give me leave to retrieve the note for you?”

Patience looked into his eyes, which were so steady and earnest. “I would be immensely grateful to have it in my possession again.”

The corners of Lord Stanton’s mouth turned down, but only briefly. “It would be wisest to destroy it.”

Though that was precisely what she intended to do, she looked sideways at him. “I will do as I wish with my property, Lord Stanton. I will retrieve it myself if necessary.”

“No, no. I will get it for you. I am quite sure there will be many eyes upon that note, and too many questions should someone be caught removing it.”

“But if you are caught, the conjecture will fall on you.”

“My shoulders are wide enough to bear it, I promise you.”

Patience was unable to keep her eyes from roaming to see this for herself. “Indeed, they are, Lord Stanton.” And then she blushed at the breathless quality of her voice and the slight, knowing look on Lord Stanton’s face.

Chapter Eight

Stanton awoke very early the next morning and pulled on his breeches. So early in fact that he surprised the boot boy in the hallway with an armful of Hessians in need of a polish. The other servants would soon be up and about their duties, so he hurried along the corridors and down the stairs to Lady Blakemore’s drawing room.

Fortunately, his eyes were well-adjusted to the dark, so he found his way easily to the mantle to retrieve Patience’s love note. But to his consternation, it was nowhere to be found. Muttering a curse to himself, he returned to his bedchamber, where he spent the next few hours restlessly pacing in front of his window, wondering who had taken it and what his next course of action should be. But no solution presented itself, and by the time he went downstairs in search of breakfast, he was very hungry and out of temper.

Most of the guests were also assembling in the dining room as he came in. His eyes searched automatically for Patience and found her buttering a scone in a seat next to Miss Percy. Despite Miss Percy’s animated chatter, Patience looked withdrawn and wary. He wished he might do something to reassure her, but telling her that the note had gone missing before he could retrieve it for her would hardly set her at ease. No, he would say nothing to her until he knew more.

After serving himself from the sideboard, Stanton sat across from Patience. When she looked up a moment later, he smiled at her, thinking how lovely she was in her primrose-pink morning dress. For some reason, she looked surprised, tilting her head in a quizzical way. What question was she mulling over?

“Well, and what shall we all do with ourselves this morning?” Mr. Stanley asked as he helped himself to some ham and eggs.

Lord Blakemore looked up from an enormous serving of cold roast beef. “I’ve been instructed to take whoever is interested in a riding tour of the estate. Looks like a pleasant day for it too.”

Stanton clenched his teeth, annoyed that Silas had not yet arrived with Tempest. More than anything, he longed to see Patience riding him. But no doubt Blakemore would be able to provide a sufficiently adequate mount for her.

Indeed, as he thought of it, he was hopeful that he might even find a moment to converse with her during the ride. Being among so many guests, the chances for conversation while maintaining the proprieties were few.

Did he dare press her for more information about the love note in hopes of finding a clue as to who might have taken it? Having been alerted by Viceroy that some dalliance had been going forward between Patience and Aston, he thought it likely to suspect Aston of having taken it. But that was very little to go on and perhaps there was something he was missing.

He had no doubt that he was overly focused on Aston due to his own jealousies and concerns for Patience. No good could come of her being so enamored with the fellow but it was easy to see why she had. Aston went to a great deal of effort to make himself fascinating. Though Stanton saw through all his pretty words and practiced charms, there was no reason Patience would. For a young girl who had seen little of the world, who was full of spirit but forced to be prim and retiring under her aunt’s watchful eye, Lord Aston must be eminently romantic.

And romantic he knew he was not. How could he possibly attract the lady’s notice when he himself held none of Aston’s attractions? Certainly it was a problem he needed to consider and quickly, before Patience was carried into scandal by Lord Aston.

Watching her as she sipped her tea and stared out the window, he could almost feel the restlessness buzzing under her skin. Maybe it wasn’t romance she wanted so much as excitement—a chance to be herself.

That, he could do.

“We have brought Amelia’s mount with us of course,” Mrs. Wendover was saying, “But I’m afraid Patience will have to stay behind.”

“Nonsense,” Mr. Stanley said, shaking his head. “Lord Blakemore, surely you have some horse that would be suitable for Miss Wendover so that she might join us.”

“Aye, I’ll have something for her. And for Miss Percy too, if she’s a mind to come,” Lord Blakemore said, nodding jovially. “Lady Blakemore was concerned about not having enough ladies to make up the numbers as it was, what with the Emery girls not arriving till tomorrow, so never fear, we’ll find something to mount them on.”

“Oh, yes, please,” Miss Percy said.

But as plans went on for who was to join the riding party, Stanton saw an exchange of glances between Mrs. Wendover and Patience—a clear communication that her aunt was not happy that Patience would be riding after all. Now, what lay behind that?

Lord Blakemore drained his tankard of ale and stood up. “Well, if we’re to finish our ride before it’s hotter than deuces out there, you young ladies had best be off to change into your riding habits. I know how long it will take you. Yes, and don’t try to deny it, Miss Percy. I’ve raised three daughters, don’t forget.”

Despite Lord Blakemore’s expectations, it was less than an hour later that the whole party gathered at the stable yards. Since Silas was not yet present to saddle Hermes for Stanton, the task fell to one of Blakemore’s grooms. Cautious as always with his prize stallion, Stanton inspected him to make sure all was as it should be before mounting.

Having adjusted the girth a bit, he murmured soothingly to Hermes, who was inclined to take exception to so many people and the accompanying chaos. But just as he was about to mount, he saw one of the undergrooms lead a piebald mare over to Patience. Appalled because the mare should have long since been put to pasture, he gave Hermes’ reins over to Adlington.

“Take him a moment.”

“What’s to do?” Adlington asked, but Stanton did not stay to answer him.

“Surely you have a better mount than this for Miss Wendover?” Stanton asked the groom.

The young man shrugged, a helpless look on his face. “This ‘ere be the only ‘orse left, ‘cept the carriage ‘orses.”

“But this won’t do,” Stanton muttered.

“It’s quite alright,” Patience argued. “I’ll make do, I promise.”

He glared at the horse. “You’re likely one of the finest riders here, but you’ll be able to do no more than plod along on this broken-down nag.”

“Lord Stanton,” she said in a fierce undertone. “I am not in the position to be choosy when I am given a chance to ride. Even if this is hardly a desirable mount, it is preferable to sitting indoors with my appalling embroidery under my aunt’s critical eye.”

This torrent of words hit him with a greater impact than she perhaps supposed. Once again, he railed against the circumstances, and people, that denied her the simple pleasures she so deserved. And she was correct that he could do nothing for her at this moment. But when Silas at last arrived with Tempest, well, then he would ensure she got a ride worthy of her.

He didn’t say another word of protest. Instead he checked the horse over and held his hands out to toss her into the saddle. While she adjusted the long skirt of her riding habit, he took the reins from the groom and handed them to her. “Do I need to adjust them for you?”

“No, thank you, they are well enough. Please, my lord, stop worrying over me. The whole party is waiting to set out.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that she was right. He went back to his horse and received the reins back from Adlington. Lord Blakemore led the riders out of the stable yard as he mounted, Patience following placidly behind the others.

No doubt sensing Stanton’s frustration, Hermes grew restive and shifted about, but Stanton soon had him settled again. As he rode up next to Patience, she smiled at him. “I was worried for a moment that you were going to have more trouble with your mount than I with mine.”

Stanton cast a wry look her direction. “I don’t know who is more restive, Hermes or I. No doubt we’d both be better for a good, long gallop.”

“Well don’t keep him to a walk on my account. I am fully resigned to the prospect of trailing behind the rest of the group for the whole of the morning.”

“I know it, and I intend to keep you company.”

“That’s very kind of you, my lord.”

“It’s not. On the contrary, it’s quite selfish, I assure you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I should otherwise be constantly turning back to ensure you were still with us. If that animal doesn’t sprain a forelock or lose its wind on the first hill, I have no doubt you’ll be stranded at the first stream or hedge because it can’t jump.”

“I don’t know why you should be so concerned for me.”

He shot her a look. “Don’t you?”

Her eyes widened as she looked up at him, clearly guessing at his meaning.

He looked away to allow her to recover from her confusion and glanced at the line of riders ahead of them. Miss Percy and Lord Adlington, not surprisingly, had fallen behind the group and were riding close enough together that Adlington’s boot occasionally brushed against Miss Percy’s skirts. Ahead of them, Amelia was flanked on either side by Lord Aston and Lord Fortescue. Mr. Viceroy and Mr. Stanley rode at the head of the group with their host.

“Isn’t it lovely being out in the fresh air and sunshine?” Patience asked a few minutes later, her face tilted up toward the sky.

“Not afraid for your lovely complexion?” he asked, teasing her.

“Not as worried as I should be, if you ask my aunt. I’m afraid I developed some very bad habits before she took me in. My father, bless him, let me spend as much time riding as I wanted, and I rarely did so with anything covering my face. I’d stay out all day in the summer, wandering around on my pony, picking blackberries from the brambles, and chasing imaginary brigands across the countryside.”

“Sounds idyllic.”

“It was. My mother has been frail since I was very young so I had very little supervision as a child beyond the servants who were too busy about their duties to give much thought for me.  I would escape outside at the first opportunity and come home berry-stained, with my hair trailing down my back all in a tangle, and absolutely no sense of the fact that I’d missed supper. I believe I was in a such a state when my aunt first saw me, and she’s never forgotten it.”

“How old were you?”

“Oh, likely about ten. After that, she pestered my father into hiring a governess and a music teacher for me. The governess lasted until I was fifteen, at which point I convinced my father that I’d learned everything I’d ever need to know from her. That freed up more time for me to ride again, but Aunt Wendover still hasn’t forgiven my poor departed father for giving in to me. I assure you, she has never given in to me on anything.” There was a hard, resentful tone to her voice now.

“I’m sorry she isn’t kind to you,” he said, hoping he was not intruding too far.

She looked up at him as if much struck. “Do you know, you are the first person ever to see that she is not. And I am puzzled to know how you do know it.”

“Because you are not your true self in her presence, and forcing someone to hide their personality and talents is not kind, however well they may care for you otherwise.”

“I’m surprised to hear you say so. I would think you’d be more likely to view her strictures with approbation.”

He was not at all surprised to hear her say so, knowing what she thought of him. “Miss Wendover, I am not a prig, however proper I may be. It is my nature to be solemn and thoughtful and cautious. But I swear, I have been much less so lately. Indeed, I believe that if you were to know me better, you’d discover that there is a great deal more to me than you suspect.”

She smiled up at him. “That sounds like a challenge.”

He laughed. “You may take it as one.”

She responded with a burst of warm laughter that made him even more determined she would not be crushed by the life handed to her.

“I didn’t know you were capable of smiling until this morning at breakfast, and now you are laughing.”

Stanton sighed and shook his head. So that was why she’d looked at him so oddly earlier, just because he’d smiled at her. What man goes about courting a lady without smiling at her? Well, he would be sure to remedy that.

“Miss Wendover, it is impossible not to when you look at me with such teasing impertinence. But while I know you to be full of spirit beneath your prim manners, I wonder if you would be daring enough to ride out alone with me one morning.”

How her eyes did sparkle then. “But what shall I ride? I can’t risk taking Amelia’s horse out again.”

“Trust me to take care of that—and it won’t be on that lumbering creature either.”

She laughed, and when she answered, her voice rang with excitement. “Then I will dare to ride with you. Just send me word. You’ll see.”

Throughout the rest of their ride, Stanton made plans to do just that. The only thing that marred his humor for the rest of the day was not knowing what had become of the note. In the wrong hands, it could most decidedly be dangerous.

And so, when he walked into the drawing room that evening before dinner and found the note sitting precisely where Lady Blakemore had left it the previous evening, he was dumbfounded. Clearly, deep games were afoot.

Chapter Nine

When all the guests had gathered in Lady Blakemore’s drawing room on the second evening of the house party, Patience was disappointed that music would not be a part of the evening’s entertainment. Instead, several card tables had been set up around the room.

Patience was an excellent musician and an accomplished rider, but she could never work up any enthusiasm over card games. This led to her being an indifferent player. Since she never had any money to wager, she usually just made her excuses. Perhaps she and Harriet could sit together somewhere and talk over the events of the night before.

Not that she would confess that she had been the one to drop the love note, in case Harriet slipped and revealed her secret. As a girl with no parents and no fortune, being linked in such a way to a rake like Aston would be ruinous for her. Not that Aston meant anything improper in the note she was sure, but she also knew how others might interpret it.

Looking about for Harriet, she was surprised to her aunt addressing Lord Stanton.

“My lord,” she said after catching his attention, “I’m sure you would find that my Amelia is a delightful partner in any game of chance.”

“I’m certain I would, if I should ever be so fortunate.” he said, in a brilliant feint that won Patience’s respect. “However, Lady Du’Breven has already requested that I partner with her.”

Patience, looking quickly in surprise to the elderly lady, caught a flash of unholy amusement in her expression before the Countess said, “I have indeed. I never chance being partnered with someone who would not appeal to me.”

Lord Stanton did not betray by so much as a twitch that he found the Countess’s comment amusing, but Patience thought she could detect it in the depths of his eyes. It was all she could do to repress a chuckle of her own.

“Very well, perhaps Mr. Stanley can partner with Amelia and join you for a game of whist.”

“We play picquet,” the Countess said, her tone such that no one would dare argue with.

There was a stunning silence for a moment, since picquet was a two-person game. Lady Blakemore, however, did her best as hostess to smooth out the awkwardness. “Well, I’m happy you will be so entertained, Lady Du’Breven. Miss Wendover, er, Amelia, you may join my game and partner Mr. Viceroy.”

To Patience’s surprise, Amelia looked quite cheerful at this invitation and moved across the room to sit at Lady Blakemore’s table. While the other guests sorted themselves out, Patience looked about for Harriet.

“Where do you think you’re going, my dear?” asked Aunt Wendover in a silky voice, stopping her by moving her walking stick in front of her feet.

Patience turned. “Do you need me, aunt?”

“Why yes, dear. Sir George lacks a partner.”

Patience leaned toward her and murmured, “But you know I have no pin money for wagers.”

“Nonsense. I shall cover you, of course.”

With a sinking heart, Patience realized there was nothing she could do but acquiesce. As she seated herself across from Sir George, an elderly crony of Lord Blakemore’s, she glanced around the room—anything rather than meet that gentleman’s eager gaze.

Harriet was playing silver loo, perfectly happy with her intended helping her choose her cards. Lord Aston never looked up from his game of whist with Lord Blakemore, Lord Anthony, and Mr. Stanley. Certainly, he did not concern himself with anything but his cards. She was beginning to think his avoidance of her was a bit too pronounced to be merely a cover.

But when she looked to the last table in the room, she found Lord Stanton’s eyes fixed firmly on their table. Not on her, but on Sir George. There was a firm set to his jaw that made her feel even more in charity with him. Then Aunt Wendover called her attention to the fact that the cards had been dealt and it was time to play.

She and Sir George lost the first rubber, but he did not seem to mind. He continued to smile jovially upon her.

As Lord Wyndham, who was her aunt’s partner, shuffled the cards, Patience wanted to scream. Another rubber of whist would mean three more hands had to be played, with thirteen tricks to be won or lost in each. She truly did not know how she could bear this torment much longer. Certainly not with Sir George staring at her throughout as if she were a work of art displayed for his personal enjoyment.

“I have been wondering, my girl,” he said, “If that is not your note sitting up on the mantle.”

Patience had been carefully avoiding even a glance at it all evening, but now her eyes were drawn toward it as if compelled. Calling on her hard-won self-mastery, she did not blush or blink or flinch. “We have all of us been wondering whose it is, but I assure you, it is not mine.”

“Of course not,” her aunt said. “My niece’s respectability is unquestioned. She knows very well that an untarnished reputation is her greatest asset. Excepting, of course, her considerable beauty.”

“Well, now,” Sir George said, “At my age, I dare say I would be forgiving of a young girl’s first romance.”

With each inference passed between her aunt and Sir George, a cold, terrible understanding swept over her. Shocked to her core, Patience could only stare at her aunt. Surely, she was not intending for her consider Sir George as a potential husband. He was corpulent, older than herself by more decades than was decent, and reeked of spirits and unwashed linen.

But of course! Why wouldn’t she? Her only aim was to be rid of Patience, not ensure her happiness—or even her comfort. And really, with her prospects, Aunt Wendover surely had few options.

“Shall we, perhaps, focus on our game again?” Lord Wyndham said, displeased with the distraction.

“Yes, please,” Patience said, relieved for an end to the conversation, even if it was to play cards.

But in her bed later that night, she found herself wide awake, tormented by the silken trap closing all too surely around her.

Chapter Ten

“Miss. Miss, wake up.”

Patience cracked one eye open and saw Dora hovering at eye-level. The room was still dim, as if the sun was just coming up, but there was enough light to see the excited smile on her maid’s face. “Dora?”

“Miss, Lord Stanton’s sent his man over to ask if you wanted to go riding.”

“Riding?” Patience tried to sift through the fog in her brain.

“Yes, riding, miss. Right now. Said he thought you’d like a good gallop before the rest woke up.”

Sitting straight up, Patience looked at the maid with wide eyes. “Fetch my habit, Dora.”

Dora grinned. “I have it ready, miss.”

Soon, Patience was following Dora down a hallway and a back staircase to a door that opened into the courtyard behind the house. Across the way were the stables. The faint glow of sunlight on the horizon did nothing to dispel the shadows, but lantern light shone from the stable doors. Inside, Patience found Lord Stanton watching over the grooms as they rushed about readying horses.

Lord Stanton looked at Patience and smiled. “Good morning, Miss Wendover.”

Patience stepped up to Stanton’s imposing stallion and held up her hand for him to sniff. After a few puffs from his large nostrils, she reached up and stroked his long, aristocratic nose. “What a handsome fellow you are,” she crooned.

Lord Stanton smiled. “My dear Miss Wendover, cannot you see he is arrogant enough without you going into raptures over him?”

But Patience heard the pleased note in his voice and only laughed.

Just then a groom came forward, leading an elegant grey gelding out into the stable yard, already fitted with a lady’s sidesaddle.

Lord Aston led her over to him. “Miss Wendover, let me introduce you to Tempest. Do not be alarmed by his name. It comes from his coloring, not his temperament, I assure you. Hermes can be a bit…impudent…but Tempest is a perfect gentleman. He was trained to the sidesaddle and my groom swears he has the smoothest gait imaginable.”

Patience ran her eyes over Tempest. “What a beautiful creature. Is he yours?”

Lord Stanton turned slightly to direct the grooms to lead the horses out into the yard. “Yes. My groom arrived with him yesterday evening, alas too late for the riding party yesterday morning.” He held out his arm to her. “Now, no more questions. Let’s ride out and meet the day, shall we?”

Though her brows were still slightly pinched in confusion, Patience nodded and took his arm. He led her over to Tempest, where he put his hands together to toss her up into her saddle. As she got settled, Lord Stanton received her riding crop from Dora and handed it up to her. “Are you well-situated?”

“Perfectly,” she assured him.

Lord Stanton mounted, and after Hermes pranced about a bit, he took control and nodded to her. As they rode out of the yard into the dim morning, Patience glanced behind to see a groom following behind. She might have been daring to agree to this, but trust Lord Stanton to attend to the proprieties.

The horses left a green trail in the silver dew, and a delicate breeze wafted the sweet, young air of morning across her face. Once through the stand of trees that bordered the lawn, the large, open park of the mansion spread before them, flat and open. Best of all, the only eyes to see them were those of a few deer grazing in the quiet dawn.

Keeping his horse close to hers, Lord Stanton seemed to keep a careful eye on her for some time but then turned to her and said, “You may give him his head, if you wish, Miss Wendover.”

“I do,” she answered back.

Soon, she and Tempest were flying, his hooves thundering beneath them, but his body as steady as an arrow streaking through the sky. Her slightest direction brought an immediate response from the obedient horse, and even though she could feel his willingness to run forever, he immediately slowed to a trot when she pulled up on the reins. She wheeled him around, and bent forward to pat his neck appreciatively as Lord Stanton cantered toward them.

“You do not gallop yourself, Lord Stanton?”

Smiling, he shook his head. “Not today. I wouldn’t have missed that sight for anything. Did your father teach you to ride like that?”

“Of course. My father was mad after horses. In the end, they were his downfall.”

“An accident?”

“No, races—though the doctors said it was a coronary that took him from us. And his debts have left Mother and I most uncomfortably situated.” Then, bending forward, she patted Tempest, almost caressingly. “If only humans were as steady as horses.”

“You may find that some of us are.”

Patience studied his expression, thinking that he certainly looked steady, as if the storms of life would be nothing for him to weather. And certainly, he had proven trustworthy with her secrets.

Unsure how to respond, she set Tempest moving forward again. “I have missed this. How funny it was that you saw me that morning in Hyde Park. I assure you, it was the only time I dared borrow Amelia’s horse.”

“It is criminal that such a splendid horsewoman as you should not be able to ride. Please, feel free to ride Tempest whenever you wish.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. Though I can’t imagine why you brought a lady’s horse.”

Lord Stanton met her eyes, his own unwavering. “When I saw him at Tattersalls, I wanted nothing more than to see you ride him.”

Surely he could not mean that the way it sounded. That would be shocking for any man, but for Stanton it was utterly unbelievable. Puzzling this out, Patience tilted her head to the side, her brows drawing together. “But…”

“Time is getting away from us. If you wish to return before curious eyes are awake to see us, we’d best turn back.”

Patience nodded, content to leave a topic that unsettled her. Stanton soon urged Hermes into a gallop, and taking up the challenge, she spurred Tempest on to catch up to him.

In the stable yard, Lord Stanton dismounted and came forward to catch her as she slid out of the saddle. He steadied her with his hands on either side of her waist, and she looked up at him with flushed cheeks and questioning eyes. His scent and warmth surrounded her, and his broad shoulders blocked out the now dazzling light spilling in from the east.

“Will you ride with me tomorrow?” he asked, his soft voice gently breaking the pulsing silence between them.

She nodded and slipped away. Her heart raced as she wondered at the whirlwind of emotions that raced through her––at the growing certainty that Lord Stanton felt something for her. Why else had he brought Tempest for her? Her heart pounded as she climbed the back stairs and all but ran to her room.

Closing the door behind her as if she might shut out her unexpected and confusing reactions to the man, she looked up to see Dora smiling at her—and rather smugly, Patience thought.

“If you utter so much as one word…” she said to Dora.

“I wouldn’t dare, miss.” Dora’s shrewd eyes sparkled with humor. “Will miss be requiring her habit again tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, I will. But only because I like his horse.”

Dora nodded thoughtfully. “He’s an odd mix of fire and gentleness, that one. He has a good set of shoulders and well-muscled hindquarters. No doubt he’ll be good for breeding.”

Patience felt her cheeks rage with the force of her blush.

“Lord Stanton’s stallion,” Dora clarified, before she was consumed by giggles. “Whatever did you think I meant?”

“I knew you were talking about the horse,” Patience said, haughtily, as she stepped forward to change her dress. “And in the future, please try to remember that you are now a lady’s maid and not the daughter of a stablemaster.”

But the effect of her reprimand was lost as Dora failed, once again, to stifle her laughter.

***

Stanton walked over to Tempest as a groom brushed him down. He patted the horse’s neck, smiling a little to himself as he remembered Patience’s wide eyes and pink cheeks as he’d held her briefly by the waist. He hoped it was a sign that she was growing less indifferent to him. “You did well, young fellow. Just remember who she’s supposed to be falling for here.”

Tempest bobbed his head, and Stanton laughed, though he knew the gelding was after the lump of sugar in his pocket. “Very well. Here you go.”

Exhilaration pumped through Stanton’s veins as he strode inside. He could barely suppress his impatience for tomorrow and another stolen morning alone with Patience.

He went to his room and changed quickly and then hurried down the stairs, hoping to get to the drawing room and retrieve the blasted love note before anyone else came down for breakfast. He had tried to retrieve it before going out to the stable, but a maid and a footman had been busy about their duties in the main hall, and it would have been disastrous if either had suspected what he was about.

Glancing around, Stanton paused at the bottom of the staircase, listening. He could not make out any footsteps or voices. Careful to keep his own tread light, he walked over to the drawing room door and slipped inside. To his surprise, Lord Aston was there before him.

The man had just lifted the folded paper from its perch on the mantle. Before he could slip it into his pocket, Stanton said, “Good morning. What an interesting situation we find ourselves in.”

Lord Aston spun. For a moment, he looked dismayed, but he quickly adjusted his expression to the mask of nauseating charm he habitually wore. “Really, Stanton. Must you go creeping about?”

Stanton studied him for a moment. He considered the matter for a moment, and said, “It seemed the best way to retrieve Miss Wendover’s property for her.”

“You have her confidence, then?”

“To an extent,” Stanton replied.

“Then you must know I’m the best person to have charge of this. Frankly, I am annoyed that Amelia was so careless with it.”

Stanton’s eyes sharpened. Amelia? Knowing he must tread carefully, he said, “Perhaps she was trying to force your hand.”

Lord Aston laughed. “She knows the only thing standing in the way of our betrothal is her mother.”

“Could it be that Mrs. Wendover is averse to marrying her daughter to a fortune hunter with loose morals?”

Raising his eyebrow, Lord Aston said, “Have some interest in that direction, Stanton? I’ll warn you that you’re late to the race. Fortescue is like a hound at a badger hole over her, and as for Viceroy—well, if I could find a way to drop him down a well with no one being the wiser, I would. The battle has yet to be won, but I’ve been laying the groundwork of my campaign for months.”

“Ever since your disastrous night at Crofton’s card party, I’d wager. You should remember that as I am in position of a fortune, my chances are better than any of the rest of you.”

Walking to the door with the note still in his hands, Lord Aston said, “Ah, but I am an earl.”

Stanton spoke quickly before Aston could leave the room. “You disappoint me, Aston.”

He turned back. “In what way?”

“Surely you see the advantage to be gained by leaving the note where it was.” Stanton shrugged for effect. “However, you may play into my hands if you wish and spare Miss Wendover’s reputation.”

Then, satisfied that Aston stood still, considering his words, Stanton bowed to him and exited the room.

Chapter Eleven

Stanton lingered at the breakfast table as long as he could, under the ruse of reading the morning paper when Lord Blakemore had finished with it. He hoped to get a moment with Miss Wendover before the gentlemen were due to go out with their guns for a little sport, but he knew he had discomfited her, so he did not hold out much hope on the matter.

Most likely he had made a misstep in alluding to why he had purchased Tempest, but if ever there was a time to take a risk, surely it was now. And by heavens, had she looked marvelous riding hell-for-leather across the West Sussex countryside.

“Anything entertaining in the Times today?” Lord Fortescue asked as he served himself a large helping of kippers and eggs.

Stanton looked up from the sheet. “Isn’t there always? Would you like me to pass it over?”

“Lord, no. I have a devilish headache this morning.”

Movement in the doorway caught Stanton’s attention. He turned to see Patience come in, looking as pure as new snow in a white-muslin morning gown. Her eyes caught his, and their gazes held for a long moment until she sat in the chair being held for her by one of the footmen. A light flush of pink suffused her cheeks, and he felt a rush of pleasure that she was affected by his presence.

“Good morning, Miss Wendover,” he said, just as if he had not already told her so.

“Good morning, Lord Stanton,” she said, a quiver of humor in her voice as she returned his greeting. She turned to the footman who was waiting beside her. “Scones and tea, please. Oh, and a three-minute egg.”

When the footman had stepped away, she turned to Stanton, her eyes twinkling merrily. “I find I am famished this morning.”

Lord Stanton smiled slightly, careful not to grin at her, as he handed the newspaper to a footman and motioned for another cup of coffee.

“Quite natural for such a healthy young miss,” Lord Fortescue said between bites. “You’re positively radiant, this morning. Yes, quite lovely.” He let his watery eyes rove over her in a way that once again made Stanton want to darken his daylights. Clearly the man was still not sober after his evening carousing. Had he even been to bed? He had changed his clothing, but that meant little.

The moment was interrupted when the Percy ladies came in. Miss Percy at once claimed the seat next to Patience and leaned to whisper in her friend’s ear, keeping her from eating the food that had now been placed before her.

Stanton knew he would not have an opportunity to speak with her again this morning. Feeling impatient with the world, he determined to go use up his restless energy shooting something. But then Lord Aston came in.

The man was clearly avoiding Stanton’s sharp eyes, but he smirked and greeted the ladies as he took the open seat next to Patience. Stanton watched her stiffen, and her eyes glanced frequently his way, though she kept her lashes lowered.

Then Aston leaned very close and said, “What charming company I find myself in. Did you sleep well, Miss Wendover?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Ah, for the blessed sleep of the innocent. I myself am cursed with restless nights and vivid dreams. Often, I do not even try to sleep.”

Patience blinked at him, obviously uncomfortable. “How horrid for you.”

“Not always, Miss Wendover,” he said in a silky voice.

Stanton swore beneath his breath. The man was vile, and Patience sat next to him with her brows pinched in confusion and her eyes wide. If he said one more word to her along those lines, Stanton was going to drag him out and dunk him in a horse pond. How had Lady Blakemore collected such a ramshackle group of gentlemen among her guests?

And when had he developed such a violent temperament?

Aston took a drink of the ale set before him and asked, “May we expect your cousin to join us?”

Patience tilted her head. “I have not spoken to her, but she doesn’t often come down for breakfast.”

Aston grinned. “A disappointment, though while her preference is difficult for a suitor, it would likely be appreciated by a husband.” He laughed. “Why, Miss Wendover. What have I said to shock you? Surely you know that gentlemen do not care for chatter over the breakfast table.”

Stanton eyed him coldly. “Though some gentlemen chatter more than is pleasing themselves.”

Aston swung his head around and glared at him.

Fortescue forestalled any comment Aston might have made, however, by asking, “Will you be joining us for the shoot, Aston?”

“I will.”

“Excellent,” Stanton said. “We shall see if your aim is any better when you’re shooting at grouse.”

“What do you mean by that, Stanton?”

Stanton stood and looked down at him. “Only that you have a tendency to shoot wide and hit targets you don’t intend. I’m left to wonder if you are too blind to see it or too arrogant to care.”

Then shifting his eyes to Patience, Stanton bowed slightly and left the room in search of his host.

***

More than anything, Patience longed to stand at the window and watch for the gentlemen returning from their hunt. She had heard the distant thunder of their guns earlier, but all had been quiet for some time know.

Would she be looking for Lord Aston’s elegant but careless saunter, or Lord Stanton’s direct, athletic stride? She felt as if a war was taking place within her heart.

And as it raged, she was forced to sit in a stuffy room and mind her stitches. Patience abhorred embroidery, but her aunt considered it the only proper activity for an unmarried girl. And so, she sat beside her cousin in the Green Salon, carefully stitching rosebuds on a handkerchief meant as a gift for her hostess.

Harriet sat across from them, reading from an improving book of manners that her mama had given her. She read each line with just enough dryness to keep Patience constantly on the verge of giggling.

After a time, Harriet glance across the room and said, “Oh good. They’re asleep.”

Following her gaze, Patience saw that Mrs. Wendover, Mrs. Percy, and the Countess Du’Breven were indeed all sound asleep. Mrs. Percy had gone so far as to drape a handkerchief over her face, and it fluttered over her mouth with each breath.

Harriet giggled and exchanged her book of manners for another. She read aloud:

“Oh, Verezzi,” exclaimed Matilda, casting herself at his feet, “I adore you to madness—I love you to distraction. If you have one spark of compassion, let me not sue in vain—reject not one who feels it impossible to overcome the fatal, resistless passion which consumes her.”

“Rise, Signora,” returned Verezzi—“rise; this discourse is improper—"

“Most improper,” broke in Amelia. “Please do not read anymore.”

“But isn’t it scandalous?” Harriet asked, an impish smile on her face. She laughed again. “Can you imagine Lord Adlington’s face if I should cast myself at his feet and confess to a resistless passion that consumed me?”

Despite herself, Patience chuckled at the thought. “Harriet, you’re incorrigible. I thought your mama burned your copy of Zastrossi.”

“Oh, she did, but it was easy enough to acquire another.”

Patience shook her head. “Your mama may be glad she will shortly be relieved of the task of keeping you in check. I wonder if Lord Adlington knows what awaits him.”

With great surprise, Patience saw a satisfied smile on Harriet’s face. “Oh, I suspect he knows. Indeed, I believe he is growing impatient for it.”

Despite knowing Harriet well, Patience gasped slightly at her daring. “You haven’t been…kissing him, have you?”

Harriet looked askance at her. “Well, of course I have. And it’s quite wonderful, let me tell you. When Lord Adlington first began courting me, though, I admit I wasn’t above half-interested.”

“Why not?” Amelia asked. “He has a title, besides being wealthy and quite good looking.”

“He always behaved so properly toward me. What was there to admire in a man who was sure to behave circumspectly in any situation when certain other gentlemen were more likely to steal you away to a hidden corner and plunder kisses from your trembling lips?”

Patience chuckled but found herself in sympathy with this perspective, which was so near to her own. “What made you change your mind?”

Now Harriet laughed. “The discovery that Adlington was not nearly so circumspect after all. At least, not once Mama left us alone so he could propose and I demanded he kiss me so I could make up my mind.”

“Well, I should find kisses distasteful,” Amelia said, her nose in the air.

“Not if the gentleman was as good of a kisser as Adlington,” Harriet retorted in a sing-song voice. “Besides, you just say that because no one has ever wanted to kiss you.”

Patience stared at the two girls with wide eyes, glancing across the room to see if their mothers were still asleep.

“That proves how little you know,” Amelia said. “Lord Aston has tried to kiss me several times, and I daresay he is an expert at kissing. But I would have nothing to do with it.”

Patience stared at her as a lance of pain shot through her. Lord Aston had been trying to kiss Amelia? But when? Surely it was before he had sent her the note. Amelia was a year older than Patience and had been out a season longer. Perhaps that was when it had happened.

“I don’t believe it,” Harriet said.

Amelia got a sly look on her face that Patience knew all too well. “No? Well, perhaps I will prove it to you by letting him kiss me. I’d only need to crook my finger at him, and he’d come running.”

“Yes, prove it then. On the balcony tonight, after supper. Patience and I will hide there to watch.

Patience wanted to argue that she would have nothing to do with the scheme. The last thing she wanted to do was watch Lord Aston kiss Amelia, but she also wanted to know if it was true. Her heart had been acting strangely, and perhaps this might serve to help her make sense of things.

Chapter Twelve

Returning from a successful shoot, Stanton saw that a traveling carriage had drawn up in front of the house, and trunks were still being unloaded from it by an army of servants. He did not much concern himself with the new arrivals until he remembered that the only guests still missing from the party were the Emerys. He very nearly turned right about again to escape.

However, unless he left the Blakemore’s, he would have to face them sooner or later. And so, he went inside and exchanged polite greetings with Mr. and Mrs. Emery and their two pretty daughters. If only he did not know himself to be high on Mrs. Emery’s list of prospective husbands for her Madeline and Eleanor, he might have been more at ease around them.

Fortunately, society was well-accustomed to his reserved and quiet personality, so he was able to retreat to the edge of the hall while Lady Blakemore stood issuing orders to the servants for the distribution of her visitors’ belongings. When two footmen came in carrying a large trunk and passed in front of him, he felt for the doorknob behind him and slipped into the blue salon.

Closing the door softly and quickly behind him, he looked around, knowing that along this side of the house stretched a series of salons and drawing rooms with interconnecting doors, all leading eventually to the ball room. From there, he could exit at the other end of the house and use a back staircase. As he strode to the door that would lead him in the direction he wanted to go, he paused, hearing for the first time the distant strains of a pianoforte.

Intrigued, he went quickly through the rooms, the notes growing louder as he went, until at last, he stepped into the ballroom and found the source of the music. Patience sat at the Broadwood grand piano, playing a haunting, moody piece that was so completely unlike the music usually played for drawing-room entertainment that it caught him by surprise. He had never heard such music and was instantly captivated.

Glancing about the room, he saw there were two maids listening with mouths agape, polishing cloths in their hands while the candelabras they should have been polishing stood untouched. He smiled a bit, as he thought about what a marvelous opportunity it was for them to hear such opulent music. But when they saw him, they hurried back to work.

Careful to step lightly in order to avoid catching Patience’s attention—she had only to look up to see him—he settled in a chair and let the rich bass chords and clear treble notes floating on top surround him. His eyes were no less fascinated as they drifted over the slender column of her neck and her dark curls gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the window behind her.  The normal sweetness of her expression had given way to one of deep concentration, her lips turned down at the corners, her brows drawn slightly together.

Stanton wondered if her emotions influenced the interpretation of her playing. He was not a musician, yet he knew the distinction between a technically proficient performance and one in which the notes were endowed with meaning by the way they were played. In Patience, he appreciated the combination of the two. So why, in a long season of social events where young ladies performed in overheated drawing rooms to wilting audiences, had he never heard her play like this?

All too soon, the last chord of the piece died away. Stanton stood and clapped with slow deliberation as he walked toward her. She let out a startled gasp of surprise and bent her head.

“Lord Stanton…you surprised me.”

“No, Miss Wendover, you have surprised me.”

“I know it is not quite the thing to be playing this time of day, but Lady Blakemore assured me that I might do so without giving annoyance, as the ballroom is so far removed from the rest of the house. And indeed, I confess I was thrilled with the opportunity to play such a fine instrument.”

She ran her bare fingers over the polished and gilded wood with a look of admiration he wished she might someday bestow on him. The same look had been in her eye when she first beheld Tempest.

He stepped back a pace to look it over. Square-framed pianofortes were much more common, and indeed, was the instrument that held a place of prominence in the drawing room here at Oakcrest. But this grand piano was a beautiful example of its kind, and he was very aware that Patience was unlikely to have played one before.

“It has five and a half octaves, as you see,” she said, her fingers running in scales across them, the notes rich and clear. “And listen to the tone. Isn’t it lovely?”

“Very. What is the piece you were just playing?”

“John Field’s Nocturne No. 2. It was the last music my father bought me before he died. It was so newly published that he joked with me to be careful not to smudge the ink. It is a bit melancholy, but it will be forever linked to him in my mind, so I’m afraid I may make it even more so when I play.”

Pulling up a chair so that he might sit with her, he said, “It is strange to find a lady who is such an expert at horsemanship and the pianoforte—two very disparate pastimes.”

“Especially taken to the extreme,” she said. Her simple statement held a hint of question, as though she was wary of the direction of their conversation. “And I must confess I do, but they are my only accomplishments and bring me great...comfort. Nothing else makes me feel so alive or stirs my emotions in such a way. I was always grateful my father encouraged me in my passions.”

“Most fathers would not have taken an interest in such matters.”

“Perhaps not, but I was his only child. My mother said he felt the lack of a son, but I knew he loved me for myself.”

Patience gave him a small wistful smile. She began playing again, another piece he was unfamiliar with, but which she obviously knew by heart, since she did not have any sheet music before her.

Tempted as he was to listen to her, he could not resist the opportunity to learn more about her situation. “How came you to be in your aunt’s care for the season? You’ll pardon me for saying so, but it seems the height of folly for her to invite such a pretty young niece, one whom—if you’ll forgive me—she appears to have no affection for, when her own daughter is still unmarried.”

“My uncle is forcing her to. And I am twenty, you know. Once I was out of mourning for my father, I had lost the first blush of youth.”

She continued to play, and his eyes were drawn to the strong, confident movements of her lithe fingers. “What rubbish. Your kind of beauty doesn’t fade.”

She shrugged. “We’ll see what a life married to Sir George will do to my beauty.”

Appalled and sickened by this revelation, he dropped his hand onto hers, stilling them with a clash of notes. “What is this?”

She did not look at him. “It was made very clear to me last night that such is my aunt’s intention. And from the way he couldn’t keep his eyes from me, it is his as well.”

“She could not be so heartless.”

She met his eyes then, and he saw that they had welled with tears. “I assure you she could. I cannot believe I am confiding in you, but I couldn’t help myself. The terror is enough to choke me.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face him. “Listen to me; you have nothing to fear from your aunt. Do you understand? You will do precisely as you wish for your future and have whatever happiness you choose. I will see to it.”

“But how can you?”

“It may feel like your aunt has a great deal of power over you at the moment, but she has not yet come against such a foe as I can be.” He pressed his handkerchief into her hands. “Now, dry your eyes.”

When she had done so and given him back his handkerchief, he lifted her fingers from the keys and brought them to his lips. He pressed a kiss there and then held her palm to his cheek, closing his eyes briefly at the silk of her skin against his. When he opened them, the fierce wonder in her eyes very nearly undid the moorings of his restraint.

“Will you play like this for the company tonight?” he asked.

She shook her head immediately, not even pausing to consider it. “Oh, no. How can I?”

“Quite easily, I imagine. If you will only allow others to see you for who you really are.”

Chapter Thirteen

Patience smoothed her hand down her evening gown of cream gauze over an underdress of orange-blossom satin and frowned at Dora. Her maid had informed her, while dressing her hair, that the Emery family had arrived, and that knowledge had led Patience to changing her choice of dress for the evening, as she was certain Dora had intended.

“I shouldn’t have worn this,” she said aloud, annoyed with herself. The simple blue silk would have been more appropriate; there really was no need for the more extravagant gown.

“Oh, but you do look lovely, miss—if I may say so.”

“But why am I wasting it on tonight?”

“Now you know as well as I do that those Emery girls will have their eye on Lord Stanton. And they’ll be as pretty as two kittens tonight, mark my words.”

Her annoyance growing, Patience picked up her scent bottle and dabbed on the rose-and-lavender perfume. “And of what importance is that to me?” she asked.

“Oh, miss, as if I didn’t know.” Dora grinned and fastened a string of pearls around her mistress’s neck.

Patience stood and glanced at herself in the mirror, unable to help wondering what Stanton would think of her tonight. As for Lord Aston, well, after all, what had he ever done for her but give her compliments and a love note that she now regretted ever setting eyes on?

She never would have guessed that Stanton, of all men, might have the power to stir her emotions like this, and with seemingly so little effort on his part.

How was it possible that steadiness and strength and sincerity could prove more intoxicating than charm of manner and easy smiles?

But she was determined not to examine her feelings too closely, no matter how significant Stanton’s words had seemed, no matter how his soft kiss on her fingers had made her feel.

As she went downstairs, she determined to keep her distance from him—just because he had such an unfortunate effect on her control. Every time she was around him, her emotions ran wild. She could not risk her aunt learning of her growing interest.

She also could not possibly play for company tonight. Not the way he wanted her to. She dared not think what the consequences would be.

But by the time the company had gathered in the drawing room after supper, Patience felt strange new storms of emotion that she was afraid might be jealousy. Truly, could the Emery sisters be any more obvious in their flirtations with Lord Stanton? And their mother! The woman sat smiling on them as if they were behaving just as they ought. When Eleanor Emery reached out, laughing, and rested her hand on Lord Stanton’s arm, Patience’s anger bubbled to the surface and she looked away, afraid she might betray her feelings.

All out of patience with herself, she looked to where Amelia and Lord Aston sat close together in a corner near the window. Why didn’t she feel jealous about that? And why did she not care that Amelia intended to claim a kiss from the man she had been so sure she loved just two days ago? Well, she did care, but only enough that it would soothe her sore pride to have Amelia proven wrong.

Just then, Amelia leaned close to murmur something in Aston’s ear. With a slight nod, he stood and slipped out the double French doors that opened onto the balcony outside. Amelia sat still, primly looking around the room. Then she met Patience’s eyes and sent her a smug look before standing and slipping outside behind Aston.

Shocked at her normally reserved cousin’s effrontery, she stared at the doors. She had actually done it!

Then Harriet was beside her, tugging on her arm. “Did you see that?”

“Yes, I saw,” Patience answered, whispering. Hopefully, Harriet would quiet her voice before they made a scene.

“You know what I think?” Harriet asked.

“Do I dare ask?”

“I think Aston sent that love note to Amelia.”

Patience opened her eyes wide. “Why do you think that?”

“It’s just the sort of ramshackle thing he would do, and that’s why she’s so sure of him.”

There was no way she could argue without revealing that he had sent the letter to her and not Amelia.

Then a spark of anger lit inside her. What was Aston about to be sending her love notes but sneaking off to a rendezvous with Amelia? Surely her cousin had misled him in some way to lure him out onto the balcony. And when he didn’t kiss her, Patience intended to be there to see it.

“Come along, Harriet, dear. I’m feeling faint. I believe some cool night air would revive me.”

Harriet giggled and stood with her. “I believe I am feeling the heat myself.”

They went outside, and Patience found that it was, actually, a relief to be outside with a cool breeze fanning her heated cheeks. But Lord Aston and Harriet were nowhere to be found.

“Where do you think they’ve gone?” Harriet asked in a whisper.

“Perhaps they’ve gone down those steps and into the garden.”

They walked to the steps, their slippers making no noise on the smooth stones. They reached the bottom, turned toward the garden, and came to an abrupt halt, grabbing each other in surprise. There in front of them, Aston had Amelia pressed to the stone wall, and he looked to be feasting on her neck as she tipped her head back to give him better access. His hands seemed to be everywhere, and then he was kissing her full on the mouth. No delicate kisses either—the man looked as if he might be trying to swallow her whole.

“Oh my,” Harriet said, shrieking.

Patience could have slapped her, for upon hearing the sound, Aston turned around and saw them there. His expression grew hard but oddly triumphant.

“There are rats in the garden,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk but horribly mocking.

Shocked beyond belief and horribly confused, Patience turned and ran. She didn’t look back to see if Harriet had followed her, thinking only of getting away from the scene.

She ran into the drawing room, heedless of discretion, and the whole company turned her direction with shocked expressions as the door banged open. She looked around wildly, cursing herself, but frozen in place.

Then Harriet came in, put an arm around her waist, and pulled her into the room. “Poor Patience saw a rat just now as we were refreshing ourselves in the garden. It was horribly ugly and frightening.”

“You poor dear,” Lady Blakemore said, motioning to her to sit down. “The tea tray has just arrived. Come and have some.”

Patience moved to the offered seat and sat woodenly, taking the tea cup offered her with trembling hands.

“There now,” Lady Blakemore said. “You’ll feel better in a moment. And I’ll have the gardener out in the morning with the dogs to root it out.”

But Patience couldn’t respond. She managed a slight nod and returned to staring down at her tea.

A deep, calming voice spoke near her. “Perhaps Miss Wendover would like to play something for us on the pianoforte. I’ve heard that it is calming for musical people to let their minds focus on their performance.”

Patience did not respond, afraid that if she spoke, a flood of words might come out that would shock everyone. But Stanton was precisely right. She needed to play. Setting her tea down on a nearby table, untouched and still steaming, she moved to the pianoforte.

“Oh, well,” her Aunt Wendover sputtered. “I suppose she may play something light. And short.” The last was a command.

But Patience paid her no mind. She began to play—not the delicate, mournful nocturne she had played earlier, but a dark, brooding piece by Mozart. As her fingers worked the keys and the notes rose to her ears, sinking deep into her soul, it did anything but calm her. Indeed, it unleashed the torrent inside her. It spilled out into her performance, and she felt powerless to control it, as if she was clinging to a runaway horse.

As she played the last note, the silence became deafening. There was no polite applause to fill the void. At last, she looked up, appalled at the expressions of those around her. They all looked more stunned than if she had raised her skirt and tied her garters. But then her eyes met Lord Stanton’s, and the expression on his face was so different. It was as if he had been moved, enthralled even, instead of shocked.

“Brilliant,” he murmured. And then he began to clap, and soon, the room filled with the sound of applause.

When it died away, Countess Du’Breven said forcefully, “Well, it’s about time someone livened this party up a bit.”

Chapter Fourteen

As soul-stirring as Patience’s performance was, as lovely as she looked in the candlelight with her chest rising and falling in agitation and her eyes flashing fire, Stanton couldn’t help but wonder at the source for her turbulent emotions. Something had happened outside with Harriet. But what could it be? It had not been a rat.

“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Wendover, “now that you are done making a spectacle of yourself, you would be good enough to play for Amelia.”

“But where is Miss Wendover?” Lady Blakemore asked, looking around the room.

“I am here,” came a soft, breathless voice from the doorway.

Stanton looked at her in surprise, his eyes taking note of her windswept hair and pale skin that contrasted sharply with the pink on her cheekbones. Her thin face looked more pinched than usual, but her expression held a note of…triumph? Victory? Why did she suddenly hold her chin in the air as she passed Patience at the pianoforte?

Lady Blakemore eyed her with a confused expression. “Did you go out with your cousin and Miss Percy? I didn’t see you.”

Miss Wendover looked down at the sheet music on a nearby table, shuffling through it carefully. As she held one sheet closer for inspection, Stanton could have sworn her hand trembled. But her voice was steady enough when she replied.

“I was overheated and stepped out before them. But we met in the garden.”

Stanton watched as Miss Wendover turned then, directing a very pointed look at Patience, who sat calmly watching her. It was only his intense study that allowed him to see the very slight upward twitch to Patience’s eyebrow.

As Miss Wendover carried a piece of sheet music to her, Patience answered. “Yes indeed. And then, of course, I saw the rat and ran back inside. I am afraid I am shocked more easily than you are, cousin.”

“Surprising,” Amelia said, looking down her narrow nose at Patience. “Considering you were practically raised in the stables.”

Stanton saw color infuse Patience’s neck and rise to her cheeks—a burning, angry color matched by the flame in her tea-brown eyes. What had occurred in the garden to put them at outs with each other?

He was left to speculate as Patience played a jaunty introduction and Miss Wendover gave a very painful rendition of “A Rose in the Thorns.”

But near the end of the song, a movement caught Stanton’s eye. He looked up sharply, just in time to see Lord Aston slip in through the French doors in a manner that could be called nothing less than stealthy. Stanton carefully lowered his head, tipping it slightly sideways to see what the man would do. After glancing around to see if anyone had noticed him, Aston smirked and turned to carefully close the door so that it wouldn’t be heard over the music. He sauntered over to a chair in the corner and sank down into it.

“Ah, how delightful,” murmured the Countess Du’Breven next to Stanton.

He turned, surprised. “Pardon?”

“The rat in the garden.”

He had come to this same conclusion himself, but did not understand her amusement. Perhaps because the jealousy and anger churning within him precluded all other emotions.

“I have often wondered,” Stanton said curtly, barely keeping his voice quiet enough to not draw attention to them, “why ladies are at once repulsed and enamored of such creatures.”

The Countess adjusted the fine lace of her shawl. “Naturally. Men are so prosaic. Women are much more romantic, and because of that, very forgiving. We long for the same surge of emotion men find in gambling or racing or boxing—or whatever other idiotic pursuits you engage in. But we look for it in love. Unfortunately, it is a rare man who understands how to give it to us.”

“But surely not an innocent, who has no knowledge of such things.”

“Oh, but there are books—lovely romances––and veiled warnings from careful mamas, and confidences from married friends. But do not worry, sir. I believe your ladylove’s lips to be pure as yet.”

Stanton raised his eyebrows, wondering what the lady knew. “It is not her lips I am concerned with at the moment but her heart.”

“You’d best change your tactics. You are fighting the battle without your best weapons.” Her eyes swept over him boldly. “And, dear sir, I suspect your arsenal would be…impressive.”

Torn between shock and laughter, Stanton was struck speechless.

The Countess reached over and patted his arm. “You came here to woo her, Stanton, so get on with it. She is not looking for kindness and propriety. She wants romance.”

Dark emotions were clawing at his mind—jealousy, anger, and the sting of betrayal. Could she still want Aston? He had thought they had developed an understanding at least, if not more. “I will not be a rat in the garden. And if that is what she desires, perhaps I should step back and let her have it.”

“Bah.” The Countess scowled. “I had thought you wiser than that.” She made use of her cane to stand and moved to sit next to her hostess.

Stanton was left to look across the room to Patience as she stood from the pianoforte. Moving stiffly, she went to sit beside her friend, Miss Percy. But away from the pianoforte, the color and vibrancy that had shimmered around her faded. She looked lost and broken, her brows drawn together as if the pattern of the carpet displeased her.

That was all it took to shift his emotions again. His heart ached. For her. For his own hopes, which had begun to grow, only to be dashed again. For if she could still be hurt by Lord Aston, whatever had happened out there, surely it must mean her heart was still loyal to him.

The butler and a footman came in to clear away the tea service, and another servant followed in their wake, approaching Mr. Viceroy, who stood and stepped away with him. He listened impassively to the servant and then dismissed him with a flick of his hand. Stanton’s faint curiosity was replaced with chagrin when Madeline Emery began warbling “Cherry Ripe” with dramatic enthusiasm.

Stanton applauded politely when she was done but carefully avoided meeting her eyes, lest she think him enthralled by her performance. Blast Lady Blakemore for inviting them. He needed to be careful not to do anything that might be perceived as encouragement. For once in his life, he was prepared to be rude, if need be, to keep them at arms-length.

The whole evening had gone to muck.

With the indispensable musical portion of the evening completed, the guests settled into conversation. Stanton picked up a book that sat on a nearby table, not wanting to converse with anyone. It was a book of sermons, unfortunately. He wondered how such a thing came to be in Lady Blakemore’s drawing room, but shrugged and opened the cover.

He was not long left to the improving passages of How to Behave: A Pocket Manual of Etiquette. Mr. Viceroy sat down beside him after a few minutes. Stanton’s eyes flicked his way, but the gentleman’s attention seemed wholly focused on Miss Wendover and Lord Fortescue, whose heads were bent close together over a piece of paper. As Stanton looked closer, he realized it was the love note. How he wished that scrap of sewage at the devil.

“One must wonder,” Mr. Viceroy said coolly, “if Lord Aston is at all cognizant that half the men in this room would happily throw him off a cliff.”

A corner of Stanton’s mouth quirked up. “A right cross to his arrogant face would be more satisfactory.”

“Perhaps that would satisfy your bloodlust, but not mine.”

At this surprising statement, Stanton raised his eyebrows. “Indeed?”

Mr. Viceroy lowered his voice. “It was not your Miss Wendover being savagely kissed against the garden wall.” His voice was stoic, but when he was done speaking, his jaw clenched in agitation.

Stanton looked hard at the unassuming man. “You saw what occurred?”

“My servant did. One of his duties, shall we say, is to be where I cannot.”

“The more I learn of you, Viceroy, the more certain I become that you are a man of dangerous competency.”

“But not ruthlessness.”

Stanton bowed his head. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“No need. Let me prove it.” Viceroy’s gaze bored into Stanton’s, his eyes bright and hard. “It would further my interests for Lord Aston to transfer his attentions from one cousin to the other. I know, however, that such would not suit you. You might say our objectives are at odds, and yet, I will tell you a piece of information that may aid your cause. Lord Aston mocked Patience harshly in the garden. Added to the scene she witnessed, she would have been much shocked. Her heart will be like a bird with a broken wing—easily caught.”

Stanton drew away from Mr. Viceroy. “Ah, but I credit her with more mettle than that. And I confess, I wish her to come freely and fully.”

“Such is my passion that I will not be so particular about how I achieve my aim.”

Stanton raised an eyebrow. “The difference in our desire lies not in strength but in quality.”

At this same moment, the ladies in the room, taking their cue from Lady Blakemore, rose to retire for the evening. Stanton and Viceroy each stood and separated.

With his long stride, Stanton was able to reach Patience before she left the room. There was nothing he could say to her here—not that he knew what he would say. Indeed, he cursed himself for being so fully under her spell. But there was no resisting her; she drew him like the moon pulled on the tides, and he couldn’t let her go without saying something.

“Until tomorrow, Miss Wendover,” he said, holding his hand out to her.

She tilted her head, laying her hand in his. As he raised it to his lips, her eyes shimmered with some hidden emotion and the corners of her lips tugged down. “I look forward to it, Lord Stanton. Will the morning be fair, do you think?”

“On the contrary. I believe a tempest will be racing across the park.”

To his great delight, his reference to their morning ride brought a warm, secretive smile to her face. “That would be lovely. I always enjoy a storm. Good night.”

She pulled her hand from his as she turned away, but the feel of her slender fingers resting in his stayed with him, haunting him. He turned and strode to the French doors which had been opened so often through the evening and went outside to collect his disordered thoughts.

The moon was full and the sky clear. The rose bushes and ornamental shrubs were washed in silver light, and all was quiet and still, at odds with his beating heart. He leaned against the wall of the mansion, which was still warm from the heat of the day, and crossed his arms.

Never in his life had he suffered such inconstancy of feeling or such confusing thoughts. There were so many parts to this tangle, and Patience seemed to be in the midst of all of it. Very likely he would gain nothing from this but a broken heart, but he could not bring himself to draw back from it.

When all was still and the house dark, Stanton turned from his thoughtful watch over the garden and went back into the drawing room where he took down the note. He opened it and read through it, shaking his head over it.

After his conversation with Aston about the note, it was clear he had no notion that the note had been given to Patience or that she had developed an attachment to him. If only it had found its way into the right hands, Patience may never have felt more than a passing fancy for Lord Aston. How differently these past days might have gone.

What a cruel mistress fate could be.

Chapter Fifteen

The only thing that allowed Patience to go to sleep was the promise of a ride when morning came. However, she awoke to darkness and an ominous roll of thunder.

“No. Not today,” she said, throwing the covers back and running over to the window. She looked out on a grey world and could only dimly see the trees beyond her window. Their branches tossed in a fierce wind, and moments later, the world lit with a furious bolt of lightning.

Gasping, she stepped back, her pulses racing. Just then, her bedroom door opened and Dora came in.

“It’s frightful, isn’t it, miss?” Dora set about lighting candles around the room.

Patience sat back on the bed and pulled the blankets up around her to ward off the chill in the room. “Dashed inconvenient is what it is.” Today of all days, she needed Lord Stanton’s calming presence to help her make sense of everything.

“Now, miss, you’d best not speak so unladylike. You don’t want to slip in front of the company.”

“I needed to go riding, Dora.”

“Well, I’ve had a message from Lord Stanton’s man, and it seems he’s disappointed too.”

Patience sat up, interested in this piece of information. “What was the message?”

Dora chuckled. “Just as I thought, miss. Lord Stanton says as how Mother Nature took him too literally, and that he’s vastly sorry for it. He hopes you’ll go riding with him tomorrow, weather permitting, and looks forward to a day spent indoors with the ladies. Though if you ask me, there’s only one lady he wants to spend the day with.”

“As if he’ll have much chance to speak to anyone besides those Bath-water misses. The Emery sisters will not give him a moment’s peace.”

“Gentlemen don’t like to be chased.”

Remembering what had occurred in the garden the night before, Patience thought Dora must be wrong. Lord Aston had certainly seemed to enjoy being chased by her cousin. If only she could throw that stupid love letter back in his charming, philandering face. But it was still sitting on the mantle in the drawing room where it mocked her every time she entered the room.

Well? Why couldn’t she go and get it now? “Dora, I need to get dressed.”

“But, miss, hardly anyone is awake. You don’t want to go downstairs by yourself.”

“I most certainly do.”

Dora performed her duties, helping Patience to dress and arrange her hair, but she grumbled the entire time. Patience ignored her, not wanting to tell Dora the reason she was so insistent.

Slipping on a shawl to ward off the coolness of the morning, Patience stepped out of her room. Feeling a bit as if she was the heroine in a gothic romance, she glanced both ways down the dim corridor to make sure no one was about to see her. Reassured, she ran to the stairs, glad the thick carpeting muffled her footsteps.

Keeping a wary eye on the grand hall below and listening carefully for sounds of anyone approaching, she hurried down the stairs and into the drawing room. Inside, it was difficult to see, since so little light came from the distant windows. Fortunately, the mantle was made of luminous white marble so she was able to make her way to it even in the gloom.

A rumble of thunder sounded from beyond the windows, making her jump. This adventure lacked only a ghost or a highwayman to make it truly thrilling.

It took a bit of careful searching with her fingers to find the note, but at last she did. An odd sense of relief settled within her and anticipation for the moment she confronted Lord Aston and showed him how very little she cared for his inconstancy.

She tucked it into the bodice of her dress and made her way through the drawing room. She stubbed her toe on an inconsiderately placed chair, but otherwise encountered no difficulty. But as she re-entered the hall, she wondered what to do next. Surely it would take time to find an opportunity to return Lord Aston’s note to him, since doing so in the manner he deserved would require some amount of privacy.

There was nothing else to do but go in search of a cup of tea and some breakfast. It seemed a sadly flat way to end the scene, but after all, this was real life and not one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s novels.

The breakfast room was empty, most of the guests not having risen yet. Unsure if the solitude relieved or disappointed her, she rang for a servant and seated herself at the table.

The butler came in then and did not betray by so much as a twitch of his bushy eyebrows that he was surprised to be serving anyone so early, much less a young lady whom he expected to still be bundled up in her bed. “What can I get for you, miss?”

“Tea, please. And I find that I am quite hungry this morning, so whatever is available will be most welcomed.”

“I believe Cook has just taken some berry tarts from the oven, miss.”

“Thank you, that would be splendid.”

Within minutes, the butler had placed a pot of tea in front of her and a footman had set her place with Lake Blakemore’s second-best china. When the butler also brought her the still-warm tart, she decided that this a very good way to pass the time after all. She rather liked having the table to herself with no one to distract her from her breakfast.

“Well, what have we here? It appears there is a mouse in the breakfast room as well.”

Surprised, Patience looked up and saw Lord Aston strolling into the room. He looked, she thought, much the worse for wear, especially considering he still wore his evening clothes from the night before. Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes, and strain showed in fine lines around his sculpted mouth. He also stepped slowly, as if each step jarred some unseen pain.

When the butler came up to him, Lord Aston waved a white hand at him. “Some ale, please. Nothing else.”

As he sat down opposite her, Patience took a sip of her tea. Here was her chance to have it out with him. “I believe you called me a rat last night, not a mouse.”

“Did I? How coarse of me. A charming creature such as yourself should only be compared to songbirds and butterflies.”

Patience eyed him for a moment and then burst out laughing.

“You find my compliment amusing?”

Controlling her laughter, she said, “I am sorry, but I never before understood how perfectly ridiculous you are.”

Lord Aston straightened his languid posture and narrowed his eyes at her. “Perhaps I should have called you a cat.”

Patience looked curiously at him, surprised that his words had so little effect on her. Only yesterday, they would have wounded her past bearing. “I suppose I should regard what you say now as little as I regard all the commonplace flattery and words of love in the letter you wrote me.”

There was a long silence while Aston studied her. She could see that his mind was turning, puzzling over what she had said, but surely her words had been clear enough.

When he spoke at last, his words were oddly punctuated as if he were choosing each with care. “I do not remember precisely what I wrote you, but I am confident that any compliments I offered were far from commonplace.”

Annoyed, Patience stood and walked around the table, her skirts swirling as if caught by the wind. She reached into her bodice and pulled out the note. “Perhaps we should study it together and decide the merit of each point.”

Lord Aston took the note from her and held it loosely in his long, white fingers. “So sweetly warmed. How fortunate a resting place my humble note has found. I have never before envied a scrap of paper.”

Patience pressed her lips together as her cheeks flushed with color but she refused to let him bait her. “I only want to ask you one question, Lord Aston. Could you not have sought an heiress from some other family? Did you not think it in poor taste to pursue my cousin?”

“My lovely girl. I never think it in poor taste to pursue anything I want.”

The way he looked at her then, the glint in his eyes daring her to press him further, sent her running from the room. As she reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the hall that led to her bedchamber, she brushed against someone. With her eyes on the floor, she did not know who. Then strong hands gripped her shoulders.

“Miss Wendover, what has happened?”

She looked up to find Lord Stanton’s concerned eyes upon her, sweeping over her as if he might determine what caused her distress. All at once he looked so safe, so steady, so protective that she leaned into him. “I…” But she couldn’t form her thoughts into words.

He stepped back a pace from her and looked around. “Come with me.”

In a daze, she allowed him to lead her into a small, seldom-used sitting room. The room was dark, so Patience only walked a few feet into it before stopping.

Thunder rolled outside as if the whole sky would fall down. A flash of lightening showed through a gap in the heavy draperies. She heard the sound of the door closing, and then Lord Stanton walked past her, his arm brushing hers. “Stay where you are a moment.”

She could make out nothing further until he flung the drapes open wide. Amazingly, there was now enough light to see by, though it was faint and grey. Lord Stanton returned to her, taking her hand and leading her to sit in the window seat. He sat beside her and possessed himself of her hands.

“I do not want to light a candle lest someone see the light and find us here. We must be careful, but I must know what has occurred.”

Feeling all at once ridiculous for causing him such worry, Patience forced herself to smile. It was a weak attempt. “I am not hurt, if that is what you mean. Only shocked. I…had discourse with Lord Aston just now in the breakfast room.”

His strong hands tightened around hers. “Did he dare force his attentions upon you?”

“Oh, no. Only, it was his manner of speaking, the look in his eyes. I cannot describe it adequately.”

“I know quite well what you mean. What passed between you?”

She blushed. “When I received your message that we could not ride this morning, I thought it would be a good opportunity to retrieve the letter. And I did get it. I tucked it away for safety and went to breakfast. I was quite alone until he came in.”

“Lord Aston?”

“Yes. And—well, first I must tell you that I saw him in the garden last night…” Her throat tightened. She took a breath and continued softly, almost in a whisper, “With my cousin, Amelia. He was kissing her, though I have never before witnessed kisses like that before.” Her fingers trembled in his until he pressed his hands more fully over hers, the warmth and strength of them giving her assurance.

“Go on.”

“You may have noticed that I was rather shocked when I came back in, and that was why.”

At this point, though she longed to pour the whole story out to him, she realized quite suddenly how difficult this would become. If he had been a woman, someone with whom she was close, she might have been able to share with him how confused she had become. The way she had been jolted from girlhood naiveté, how she had felt a resentful bitterness that Lord Aston had used her so ill. But now, with Lord Stanton so close, so wholly focused on her, she understood fully for the first time why it had also been a relief to have the blinders removed from her eyes.

She looked up, letting her eyes sweep over his features, lingering on his full, masculine lips. What would it be like to be kissed by Lord Stanton the way Lord Aston had kissed Amelia? Her heart throbbed, and her pulse jumped. She could feel it buzzing in her wrists like hummingbird wings. Because she knew, with a deep intuition, that to have Lord Stanton kiss her like that would be better, sweeter, so much more…meaningful.

“Patience, take care. When you look at me like that, it tempts me beyond what I may resist.”

The sound of her name on his lips was headier even than the way his thumb caressed the back of her hand. “Lord Stanton, I want only to tell you that I am done with my former absurdity. I gave Lord Aston the letter just now, and I want nothing more to do with him.”

The moment hung between them, heavy with meaning and punctuated by the patter of raindrops on the window pain. He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them, slowly and with great tenderness. “I cannot tell you how it pleases me to hear that, but I am afraid that the matter is not yet over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I destroyed the letter last night.”

Chapter Sixteen

By three o’clock, all of the guests had settled down to a day of entertainment indoors. Stanton sat in a chair in the library with Mr. Viceroy and Lord Blakemore. He had spent the morning trying to study a book on land management, but despite his best efforts, he could not force his mind to focus on crop rotations or manure. The words on the page blurred before his eyes as he remembered the sight of Patience that morning, so close that he could see every individual eyelash framing her lovely eyes. But more than that, he remembered the softening in her expression and the quickness of her breath when their gazes had met and held.

After his doubts and frustrations and jealousies of the night before, it felt like spring sunshine warming him, dispelling the darkness, and leaving only light.

Surely he could not be mistaken that she returned his feelings. The look on her face had not been mere interest or friendly admiration. No, it was something deeper—closer to the overriding love and passion he felt for her.

Free from Aston’s shadow over them, he needed only to obliterate the threat posed by that blasted love note. If only he had not been so quick to tear it to shreds and burn it in his wash basin. Someone had made a copy—he did not yet know why—and he did not know which he had destroyed.

Mr. Viceroy stirred, drawing Stanton’s eyes to him. Not for the first time, Stanton wondered what insight the man might have into this mystery. Sitting forward, he considered how he might best approach the topic with Lord Blakemore in the room, but could think of no way to do so without introducing Patience into the conversation.

The distant thrum of the pianoforte sounded through the still house, drifting in through the open library door. The notes were so precise and yet so laden with feeling that Stanton knew at once it must be Patience. He had never before realized that a musician’s style could be so individual, but he thought he would now know Patience’s playing anywhere.

Placing his book back on the shelf where he’d found it, he left the library as if pulled along by an invisible string. His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, so he walked more softly so as not to draw attention to himself. Pausing in the doorway to Lady Blakemore’s drawing room, his eyes went straight to the piano. As he saw Patience, his heart pounded with desire to go to her side. It was all he could do to hold himself in check.

Her eyes were closed, and her body bobbed gently with the movement of her playing. It was clear she was lost in the music her fingers created so deftly. He imagined that she might look just this way right before a kiss.

“Would you care to join us?” Lady Blakemore said, breaking through his abstraction. “We are about to have a cup of tea.”

The Countess Du’Breven chuckled. She didn’t say another word, but Stanton knew all too well that she was enjoying his lovelorn fatuity.

“No, I thank you. I was on my way to the stables.”

His eyes returned to Patience. He could no more control them in her presence than he could his heart.

Her eyes were open now, her head tilted to the side as she regarded him. Their eyes met and held, her fingers never faltering on the keys as she drew out the last chords of the nocturne she played. When the last ringing note died away, she smiled at him. Such a small smile that he doubted anyone else could see it. It was meant for him alone. If only he could respond the way he wanted to. Instead, he bowed slightly and turned away before he might reveal himself any more to the other ladies watching him so pointedly.

As he walked away, a swell of feminine laughter followed him. There would certainly be no secret about his intentions toward Patience any longer. And as he walked toward the front door, he paused. Surely there was no better time to make sure Lord Aston knew of his intentions as well.

Instead of going to the stables, something he’d determined to do solely to provide himself with an excuse for not staying in the drawing room with the ladies, he went upstairs in search of Lord Aston’s room. A housemaid directed him to the correct door, and he knocked on it loudly enough to wake the man if he was, as Stanton suspected, sleeping off the effects of late-night drinking. When Stanton had gone down to the breakfast room to find him that morning, after Patience had slipped away to her room, the only sign he’d found of the man had been an empty ale tankard.

Stanton was on the point of knocking again when the door opened. Lord Aston appeared at the door, wearing a robe and a disgruntled expression.

“I need to speak with you.”

Lord Aston looked ready to refuse him, but turned away and left the door open for Stanton to follow him inside.

Stanton looked around the room, at the clothing dropped carelessly on the floor and the empty decanter left on the window sill. But what interested him the most was the piece of folded paper that lay on the writing desk.

“What do you want?” Aston asked as he scrubbed his hands over his bleary face.

Stanton walked over to the desk and picked up the note as he said, “I thought it was time you and I had a talk.”

Looking down at the note and unfolding it, he noticed that the creases were new, not worn as the original note had been. What had the paper looked like on the note he had thrown in the fire? He cursed himself for not being more observant.

Lord Aston laughed and pulled it out of his hands. “As it turns out, the wrong Miss Wendover received this little tribute of my undying love. And I must say, the possibilities are interesting enough to make me glad of it. She’s such a ripe little beauty. I wonder…”

“You may leave off wondering if you desire to keep your body and soul together.”

Stanton had not meant to be so blunt, but the anger that shot through him at the obvious and lascivious direction of Aston’s thoughts had been impossible to contain.

“Oh, ho. So it is like that, is it? But she will be wasted on you. You are far too straight-laced to enjoy her properly.”

Stanton took a step toward him, and Lord Aston froze like an animal sensing danger. His instincts were not amiss. If he but knew the narrow the edge upon which Stanton’s temper balanced...

Taking the note back and holding it in front of Lord Aston’s petrified face, Stanton said, “I came to discover if you might be the one who had made a copy of this note. But you are too half-witted to even notice that it isn’t the original.”

Lord Aston pulled it from his light grip and studied it. It took him only a moment of closer inspection to see that it was indeed a fake. “Someone is very good at forgery. Even I wouldn’t have noticed that this is not my writing if I hadn’t known to look.”

Stanton watched as Lord Aston paced about the room, rubbing his forehead. Something about the note had clearly disturbed the man, so Stanton asked, “If you had done it, I could easily have guessed at your motives. Since it was not you, what possible reason could someone have for doing this?”

Lord Aston threw the note down on his bed. “I don’t know. To cause further speculation. For their own amusement. To discredit me.”

Stanton leaned against the wall and studied him. “But no one besides you, Miss Patience, and myself know that you penned the original. Correct?”

“How should I know? Until this morning, I would have sworn only Amelia knew, and I thought she dropped the letter to force me to the point.”

“Isn’t that your whole intention?”

Aston scrubbed his fingers through his hair and paced around the room. “Yes, but it sticks in a man’s gullet, you know? Would you want to greet that face at the breakfast table the rest of your life? Especially when her cousin is—” Stanton took a step toward him, fists clenched, but Aston threw up his hands defensively. “I’ll say no more!”

“You know, you could just retrench and live frugally. With some economy, you could likely recover and marry to please yourself instead of your debtors.”

Aston looked at him in shock. “That’s grim advice. Anyway, I daresay I’m being melodramatic. I can take my pleasure elsewhere after all. A man doesn’t even need to be under the same roof as his wife more than a few times a year I daresay.”

Thoroughly despising the man, Stanton couldn’t resist galling him further. “There’s an heir to be thought of.”

Aston visibly shuddered. “Well, I’ve managed to court her so far. If you close your eyes, kissing her ain’t so bad. I daresay I’ll manage it. And it’s better than debtor’s prison.”

“Now that’s an ideal comparison, isn’t it.”

Stanton turned to go, unable to abide anymore, but Aston called him back. “Why are you so worried about the note anyway? It’s not like anyone can prove it’s hers.”

“It bothers me that someone thinks it’s worthwhile to not only take it, but copy it and keep the original.”

“That is odd. Why, without names on it, what could anyone do with it? And why would they care to?”

“I have no more idea than you. I’m afraid we may have to wait and see.”

“I could always claim it myself,” Aston said.

Stanton studied him. “Just be sure that you do not breath a word that tarnishes Patience Wendover’s name. I trust there is no need to elucidate upon the consequences should you do so.”

“Not at all, Stanton. You’ve claimed your territory, never fear. If there is one thing I understand, it’s self-preservation.”

Chapter Seventeen

Patience stood next to Dora in her shift and dressing gown, looking over the contents of her wardrobe. It was a disheartening sight.

“There’s just no way ‘round it, miss. You’ll have to wear the yellow one again.”

When Dora had packed for the house party upon leaving London, Patience had been quite sure that she could make do with only four evening dresses and her ball gown. After a whole season of wearing her cousin’s castoffs multiple times over, she’d thought she was inured to the humiliation of being seen twice in the same dress. But now, when she so much wanted to look her best, it was certainly dispiriting.

“Well, perhaps if I wear different gloves or a shawl or something—” A knock on her door made her pause. “It’s probably Harriet coming to chat. She spends so much time with Lord Adlington that we’ve barely spoken this whole time.”

But when Dora opened the door, Patience’s stomach sank when she saw who it was.

Aunt Wendover came in, her cane thumping lightly across the floor. “Leave us, Dora.”

Dora, ever in awe of Aunt Wendover, bobbed a curtsey and flew out the door, closing it softly behind her.

“What are you wearing tonight, Patience? I want you to look your best.”

Since this was the first time Aunt Wendover had ever cared for her appearance beyond ensuring that she looked respectable enough to be associated with the family, it took her a moment before she could think well enough to answer.

“I’m, uh, wearing the yellow one again.”

Aunt Wendover frowned. “Nonsense. I’ll have one of Amelia’s gowns sent over. You should look lovely in the new rose-satin gown we got from the modiste before leaving London. The one with the spangled net overdress.”

With her brows pinched tight, Patience watched her aunt, trying to determine what was going on. Her aunt moved over to her dressing table and opened her trinket box. With a cold, determined expression, she sifted through the few pieces of jewelry there and pulled out her mother’s pearl necklace.

“Wear these. It will remind Sir George of your innocence and youth.”

She’d been afraid it was that.

Remembering Stanton’s assurances, she gathered up her courage. “I’m sorry, Aunt Wendover, but I cannot marry Sir George.”

Aunt Wendover dropped the pearls on the dressing table and turned to glare at Patience. “You cannot deny him either, not if you wish to continue under my roof.”

“He is three times my age.”

“And he’s wealthy enough to buy an abbey. It may not seem like what you want when you’re young and hopeful with your eyes full of stars, but you will thank me when you are a wealthy widow with the means to keep you and your mother in luxury for the rest of your days. Trust your uncle to make sure to attend to that in the settlements.”

“I have no doubt that my uncle would do what is best for me.” She let her meaning settle into the tense air of the room. “But I am sorry, I would rather spend the rest of my life in a one-room hovel then spend it married to Sir George.”

Aunt Wendover’s bosom heaved, and her face grew crimson with suppressed rage. “You ungrateful wretch. And have you thought at all of your mother? No doubt you have thought of other means to support you both? I don’t doubt you think Stanton will set you up quite nicely as a mistress. But your beauty will fade, and make no mistake that as enamored of you as he may be now, there will come a day when he looks to make an advantageous marriage.”

Patience was beyond caring if she exposed her feelings and hopes. “And what makes you so sure that Stanton does not mean to marry me? He does not need a rich bride.”

“No rich man ever got that way or stayed that way by not using every opportunity to his advantage. Why would he marry you when he won’t even glance twice at Amelia? No, it’s clear to me that he wants you. Oh yes. There is no mistaking that look in a man’s eyes when it rests on a girl like you.”

Patience knew, with serene clarity, that her aunt was wrong. No doubt she would be right when speaking of most men, but she was completely ignorant of Stanton’s character or sincerity. True, Stanton had said nothing to her about marriage, but she trusted implicitly that he did not mean anything improper by her.

“Aunt, I appreciate that you and Uncle Wendover have given me opportunities that I would otherwise never have had. I am grateful for it. But my gratitude does not lead me to make myself miserable. I will not accept Sir George, should he propose, so I beg you will not encourage him to do so. And I will not wear the rose-satin gown to parade myself before him.”

Their gazes held and clashed. The friction of a lightening storm danced between them, her aunt’s eyes turning colder by the moment.

“Very well. You will not obey me. Certainly, you are a grown woman and may make your own choices. And certainly, you will not wear Amelia’s gown or any other I have given you.”

With those words, Aunt Wendover tugged on the bell pull and went to the wardrobe, pushing the doors open wider. Leaning her cane against the side, she methodically began pulling every gown out of the wardrobe and dropping them on the floor. Patience watched in simmering rage but said nothing. If her aunt chose to be so petty, she would not stop her.

A moment later, a maid entered and betrayed her surprise by a gasp.

“Take these gowns to my room and be quick about it. Bring my maid back with you to help.”

Not saying a word, Patience moved to the window and stared out into the darkening twilight. She would not let her aunt know how upset she was nor plead with her in any way.

“I will inform Lady Blakemore and the other guests that you are indisposed. If you change your mind, I will send a gown back for you. Regardless, you will see Sir George tomorrow before the ball and you will accept him, or we will leave from here and deposit you on your mother’s doorstep where you will never have dealings with my family again.”

Even after the door shut, Patience did not turn from the window, but she let her head drop. The pride that had strengthened her was now exhausted, leaving her with nothing but fear and self-pity.

She cried as she had not cried in years, with the tears running hot down her face like a coursing river, her breath coming in great, wracking gasps. Angry with herself for giving into such weakness, she turned and went to look for a clean handkerchief. As she did so, there was a slight knock before Dora slipped into the room. Their eyes met, and then Dora was across the room, taking her in a comforting embrace.

“There now, miss. Don’t worry. She’s a monster and no mistake, but you’ll come about. Just see if you don’t.”

Patience shuddered in her arms. “I don’t know what to do, Dora. She’s left me nothing but the shift and robe I’m standing in. I have no clothes and no shoes and no money. I’m completely and utterly in her power.”

“Mayhap you would be if you were friendless. But just you mind me, miss, you’re not. And so she’ll learn before she’s much older.” Dora stepped back and went to the wash stand. She came back with a cool, damp handkerchief. “Bathe your face and neck. You’ve gone all blotchy. I’ll be back soon.”

Dora was indeed back quickly and not alone. Harriet burst into the room, a pillar of fiery indignation. Patience felt an immense relief sweep over her as soon as she saw her friend. Her aunt had seemed to cast a shadow of hate and jealousy and tyranny over the whole world, but Harriet’s presence was a warm reminder that there was love in it also.

“That woman,” Harriet said, looking toward the empty wardrobe. “I never would have dreamed someone could be so evil if I hadn’t seen it myself. But don’t worry a moment. You’re going to stay with me and Mama. And you’ll wear one of my gowns to dinner this evening, and we’re going to throw her meanness in her ugly face.”

“Oh Harriet, you are a treasure. But I don’t dare go down to dinner. Not with her there.”

“I’ll be there, and so will Stanton.”

When she said his name, Patience felt a calm come over her. He wouldn’t let anything dreadful happen to her. And she did so want to see him.

“I’ll do it,” she said, her voice hushed at her own temerity.

Harriet hugged her. “Let me finish dressing, and I’ll come back. Oh, just wait. I’ve been dying to see you in something better than Amelia’s castoffs all season.”

While Harriet was gone, Dora put up her hair, taking longer than usual with the pins and crimping iron. Patience dabbed a bit of scent at her wrists and décolletage and wondered what her friend would bring her to wear.

Harriet’s taste did not disappoint.

When the two young ladies went down to the drawing room behind Harriet’s mother, their arms linked together for courage, Patience knew that she looked her best in a white silk gown with a fine gauze overlay embroidered with floral sprays in silver thread and a deep border of palm leaves and scrolls at the hem. With her mother’s pearls around her neck and Harriet beside her, she entered the dragon’s den.

Chapter Eighteen

Stanton could barely restrain himself from pacing about Lady Blakemore’s drawing room as he waited for Patience to enter. It had been a long, restless day knowing she was so close at hand but completely unavailable to him. His worry over her situation made it difficult to keep his usual calm demeanor in place.

He had seated himself next to the Countess, knowing she would not require conversation from him when he was not in the mood for it, and indeed she sat placidly next to him, watching the interactions of the other guests with an amused expression, as if enjoying a farce.

It would have amused him too, had he not been so caught up in other matters, to see Mr. Stanley blushing from the flirtations of the Emery ladies. Besides that tableau, he noticed the steady, possessive gaze Mr. Viceroy had fixed on Amelia while she flirted with Lord Aston and Lord Fortescue, just as if she’d been a diamond of the first water. There was trouble brewing there, no doubt of it.

“Let me see,” Lady Blakemore said. “Who is not yet with us?”

Her husband cleared his throat. “The Percys, my dear. And Miss Wendover.”

“Is your niece joining us this evening?” Lady Blakemore asked, turning to Mrs. Wendover.

Patience’s aunt smiled. “She’s not feeling well, so I have induced her to stay in her room this evening.”

Stanton’s eyebrows rose. Patience had looked well enough earlier that afternoon when she’d been playing for the other ladies. And he’d seen her recover from a heat-induced headache easily enough to be suspicious now of Mrs. Wendover’s excuse. He was on the point of pressing the lady further when he felt a light pat on his arm. The Countess shook her head at him, so he held his peace.

“That is really too bad,” Lady Blakemore said. “I have been looking forward to more of her enlivening music this evening. Such a treat. We must hope she will be better for the ball tomorrow night.”

“I worry that she will not be. She is sadly run down, the poor child,” Aunt Wendover said. “Indeed, I intend to take her home to recover her strength the next morning.”

Stanton could take no more. He stood, determined to discover the truth. But just as he did, Mrs. Percy came in, followed by Patience and Harriet. The rest of the gentlemen stood as well, so no doubt they thought his hasty movement no more than good manners.

As he feasted his eyes upon her, longing to go to her side, he tried to puzzle out how she came to be there after all. Glancing quickly toward Mrs. Wendover, he caught an expression on her face so full of concentrated hostility that he knew at once Patience had a dangerous enemy in her aunt.

Well, and so her aunt would find one in him.

“My dear girl,” Lady Blakemore said. “I am not sure I should let you disobey your aunt. She is very concerned for you, and indeed, you are quite pale. Are you sure you are well enough to join us?”

Stanton saw the effort it took her to smile, but she did so quite convincingly. “I am well, Lady Blakemore, thank you.”

Harriet seemed to pull her further into the room. “I gave her one of my mother’s famous headache powders, and it has restored her.”

“What?” Mrs. Percy asked. “Oh yes, one of my famous headache powders.”

“How lovely,” Lady Blakemore said. “You shall have to let me try them. I suffer from the headache incessantly.” The butler came in at that moment to give his mistress the cue that dinner was ready to be served, and Lady Blakemore stood. “Shall we go?” she asked to the room at large.

Stanton turned his eyes from his beloved to assist the Countess. She took his offered hand, and when she was standing, leaned toward him to murmur. “It would seem that your beauty is in difficulties.”

“I’m afraid so. But for no longer than I can manage, I promise you.”

“Bring her to me if need be. Eliza Wendover knows better than to take me on as an adversary.”

“You are a treasure, Lady Du’Breven.”

“Nonsense,” she replied. “I am a managing busybody. And I love being in the middle of a scandal.”

Stanton frowned. “There will not be a scandal if I can stop it.”

Lady Du’Breven smiled knowingly. “My lord, this party is ripe for scandal. It simmers at the edges even now, and soon it will be spewing like a pot boiling over.”

Stanton somehow survived the eternal dinner, course after course. He was seated nowhere near Patience at the dinner table and could only see the top of her head. If he’d at least been seated by Mrs. Percy, whom he suspected knew at least in part what was going on, he would have been content. Instead he was forced to make polite conversation with Mrs. Emery and Lady Wyndham.

Thus it was a relief when the ladies stood to leave. Standing beside his chair, he caught Patience’s attention as she passed and tried to signify with his expression everything he wanted to tell her…that he knew she was suffering, that she could trust in him to make it all well. And if she saw more than that—saw through to his deeper feelings—well, wasn’t he prepared to confess them anyway?

His mind turned over one stratagem and then another, trying to think of a way to get Patience apart for a few moments before the night was over.

“Have you turned into a statue, Stanton?” Lord Fortescue asked, laughing at his own jest.

Stanton realized he was the only gentleman in the room still standing and took his seat, though it irked him to do so. Lord Aston passed him the decanter and a footman presented him with a glass on a silver salver.

Not in the mood to linger over his port but unable to leave until his host did, Stanton neglected his wine in favor of the bowl of nuts that had been placed before him. He cracked several and ate them, more as a way to keep himself from glaring at Lord Blakemore for lingering at the table than out of hunger.

The others seemed not to mind at all, imbibing one glass after another. It would not be long before they were too far gone to join the ladies in an elegant evening in the drawing room.

Viceroy changed seats to sit next to Stanton. As always, he tensed, knowing that it was wise to keep on his guard around the man. And especially so when his pursuit of Miss Wendover was so far unsuccessful.

“There is talk among the servants.”

Stanton pulled the meat from the walnut he’d just cracked. “No doubt you are anxious to tell me about it.”

Viceroy’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll choose not to be insulted by your manner, since I know the great strain you must be under knowing how a certain lady was treated by her aunt tonight.”

He did not like to encourage the man, but he was hungry for information. “Go on.”

“The servants do not know why the aunt took away all the young lady’s clothes and left her standing in nothing but a dressing gown. They certainly think it’s indecent and spiteful, but otherwise cannot imagine why.” Viceroy leaned closer, lowering his voice, “Especially on the same evening when Sir George’s valet was bragging to the other servants that his master would be engaged to that same young lady before the night was over.”

Stiff with anger, Stanton held up one finger to stop the flow of Viceroy’s account. “That is sufficient, thank you.”

“Pardon me, Stanton, but it may be enough for you to draw a very accurate conclusion about what occurred to put the aunt and the niece at odds tonight, but it is not enough to manipulate the situation in your favor.”

Stanton shifted to face Viceroy squarely. “I have no need of your favors, Viceroy. I do not know what schemes you are playing out, but I want no part of them.”

“I only wish to clear my debt with you.”

“I do not like to call another gentleman a liar, but as you have told me yourself that you view every connection merely for how you may stand to gain by it, I cannot and do not credit that your willingness to assist me springs from any impulses of kindness or honor.”

“Then at least do me the credit to consider this a business dealing, one in which we could be amicable parties. I hold cards you have not yet seen, and believe me when I say that you will wish to be present when I play them.”

“And when will that be?”

“Tonight in the library at midnight.”

“Creating a gothic atmosphere for your tour de force?”

Viceroy smiled as if pleased with himself. “No. Ensuring privacy.”

***

Patience bore her aunt’s glares as long as she could, hoping to be able to speak with Stanton—or even just to feel his comforting presence and strength beside her for a moment. But the time dragged on and on while the ladies attempted to make conversation. After an hour, it became clear that the gentlemen would not be joining them that evening.

“I am quite perturbed with Blakemore,” his wife said. “Still, I suppose it is not surprising that the gentlemen should want to have an evening to themselves. We all know how they are.”

“I, for one, am more comfortable without them here,” Lady Wyndham said. But since she was not one of the women desiring to make a match between her daughter and one of the gentlemen, no one agreed with her.

“Harriet, why don’t you sing for us?” Mrs. Percy asked.

Harriet looked to Patience, concern written clearly upon her face.

“Do not worry,” Patience asked. “I’ll be fine.”

Harriet nodded and went over to the pianoforte.

Unable to bear her aunt’s stare, Patience stood and picked up a book from the table, moving to sit on a settee against the wall, where a potted palm tree screened her from the rest of the room. She opened the book upon her knee so that anyone who might happen to glance her way would think her reading and let her eyes fall shut.

In truth, this had been one of the most excruciating nights of her life. She felt as if she’d been wrung out like wet laundry. She had the assurances and support of Harriet and, she was very sure, the concern of Lord Stanton. But it was unnerving to not know what the future held. The only certainty she had was that she could return to her mother’s small rented rooms in Sidmouth and live out her life in impoverished gentility, never to see her more aristocratic connections again.

For as kind as Harriet was, she could not impose on her friend by going to live with her. She would be marrying Lord Adlington soon in any case. And Patience dared not think of what Stanton had seemed to imply, for surely that was too rosy, too grand a happiness for her to find.

Hearing the rustle of skirts, Patience looked up to find Amelia approaching her. With a sinking heart, she realized that her cousin had every intention of sitting beside her and engaging her in conversation.

“It is a strange thing,” Amelia said, “to discover that one can feel sorry for someone you have resented for so long.”

Patience felt her face go pale. “Do you speak of me?”

Amelia nodded and gave her a wan smile that immediately faded. “It is very hard to be plain and have a beautiful creature like you always about, but marrying Sir George would be worse than anything.”

“A nightmare,” Patience agreed, shuddering. “But, Amelia, it is you that the gentlemen always hover about.”

“I know. It is a painful thing to know that every flattering word is pretense and every pretty gesture a ploy. Do you know that only one man has ever looked me directly in the eye while giving me a compliment?”

Patience shook her head, her heart twisting at the pain in Amelia’s voice. “Who?”

Amelia lowered her head. “Mr. Viceroy. At first, I thought that at last I had found someone who truly admired me, but my father refused the match, most likely at my mother’s urging. Since then, he has become more determined, but always in the background—as if he were playing chess and considering his next move. What if he was not sincere, but only more adept at playacting?”

Patience ran a finger over the embroidery on her dress, following the intricate lines as she considered what to say. “I do not know the gentlemen well enough to hazard a guess. What of Lord Aston?”

Amelia shrugged, her face growing more strained than ever. “That is nothing but a determined deception on his part and a mad game of self-delusion on mine. It was lovely to pretend. And perhaps hope.” She shifted then, turning more fully toward Patience. “I wanted to thank you for coming down tonight—for showing me that I must go after what I want no matter what Mama says.”

“What do you want?”

“I am not perfectly sure yet, but when I do, you may be certain I will get it.” Amelia considered her a moment, as if trying to make up her mind about something. “I overheard Mr. Viceroy ask Mama to meet him in the library at midnight. I intend to be there, and I feel that you should too.”

“Why?”

“It’s about Aston’s love note.”

“You know then?” Patience asked, incredulous.

“I guessed the night it was found. Aston has been in the habit of sending me notes, usually smuggled in by hiding them in a gift. It didn’t take long to work out that one of them must have found its way to the wrong Miss Wendover.”

Patience opened her eyes wide at this revelation. “You mean the note was never meant for me at all?”

“No.”

She felt a flash of embarrassment and self-mockery that stunned her for several seconds. But then the absurdity of it struck her—how she had pined for Lord Aston and been carried away into such raptures over their ill-fated love.

She gave a gasp of a chuckle and pressed her fingers to her lips before laughing anyway. She almost had her mirth under control when she thought of the way she had confronted Lord Aston. She then began to laugh with unbridled amusement that even Amelia’s anxious pleas to hush had no affect on.

“What an opportunistic shag rag that man is.”

Chapter Nineteen

When the clock over the fireplace in the dining room chimed the midnight hour, Lord Blakemore’s male guests were no more inclined to leave the table than they had been over two hours earlier. They were drooping in their chairs and filling their glasses less frequently, and indeed, it looked as if a few of them, including Lord Blakemore, might drop off to sleep any time.

Mr. Viceroy stood. “Shall we excuse ourselves to our host?”

Stanton doubted Blakemore would remember whether they had or not, but bowed and thanked him for a delightful evening. When they were out in the hall, walking side by side toward the library, Stanton felt an odd, excitable tension emanating from Viceroy.

“Who else will be joining us?” Stanton asked.

“Who else but Mrs. Wendover.”

Clenching his jaw, he forbore asking Viceroy any further questions. The thought of meeting with Patience’s aunt in such clandestine circumstances made him even more reluctant to fall in with Viceroy’s wishes than before.

When they reached the library, Viceroy opened the heavy oak door and motioned for Stanton to precede him into the room. There were candles lit sporadically around the space, leaving the corners dark. The vast collection of books seemed to stare down at them disapprovingly, but Stanton rebuked himself for being fanciful. He was a man of reason, and no doubt Viceroy would thrive on the drama of such a forbidding setting.

“Please, take a seat,” Viceroy said, just as if he were the host and this was his very own library.

Before Stanton could do so, the door opened and Mrs. Wendover came in. She moved quickly and decisively for one who leaned rather heavily on her cane. She looked them over with a wary expression.

“Well, I am here, sir. Whatever you have to say, will you please be quick about it?” She sank into a chair and propped both of her hands on the cane. As she stared back at them, she looked rather like a crow, unblinking and aloof.

“My dear madam, I intend to.” Viceroy stood in front of Lord Blakemore’s desk, his hands clasped behind his back. “It has been some months since I first called on your husband to request the honor—”

He was interrupted in his apparently well-rehearsed speech by the door opening again. Stanton was surprised, not having expected anyone to join them. By the way Viceroy broke off to see who it was, he was surprised as well.

Two slight, feminine figures entered, revealed by the candlelight as they came closer to be Amelia and Patience.

“What are you doing here?” Mrs. Wendover asked, her voice sharp.

“Whatever you are all discussing, it concerns Patience and I,” Amelia said. “So do not try to send us away.”

Stanton, who had stood when they entered, motioned Patience to a seat next to his. “I, for one, am glad you are here.”

Patience smiled up at him then, a small, swift response, but the warm glance that accompanied it made it feel intimate and meaningful.

“Oh, get on with it,” Mrs. Wendover said, turning her glare from Patience back to Viceroy.

“Oh,” the man said. “I had not intended to do this in the presence of…ahem. Very well. Ever since your husband refused his consent when I asked for Miss Wendover’s hand, I have been made aware that nothing short of strong inducements would sway the matter in my favor. And so, I endeavored to arrange for some.”

“Of course you did,” Stanton said, reclining in his chair, knowing this would take some time. Viceroy would want to enthrall them all with his cunning before he got to his point.

Viceroy bowed in his direction. “Anyone who knows me would have expected it. It seemed to me that I needed to know if anyone else became a rival for her hand, and so I managed to install a second pair of eyes within your household.”

“You have been spying on us?” Mrs. Wendover asked, clearly enraged. And as little in charity with her as Stanton was, he did not blame her.

“You may use that term if you wish, but I do not. I think you will recognize him.”

Viceroy turned and moved to another door, a smaller one set between two bookcases. A man entered the room. He did not wear livery but carried himself with the posture and demeanor of a gentleman’s servant.

“Henry?” Patience’s voice showed her surprise. “I do not understand.”

“Yes, Henry has been in my employ since he was first engaged by your housekeeper, Mrs. Wendover. As footman, he had the opportunity to mark the coming and goings of potential suitors, as well as see the various poems and tributes sent to Amelia. He reported to me frequently, and it became clear that Lord Aston was making a strenuous effort to attach Amelia’s affections. This was naturally not to my liking, so I requested Henry to begin to keep any communication between them and hand it over to me.”

Amelia gasped. “You intercepted notes and gifts meant for me?”

“Certainly,” Viceroy said. “I did not think Aston’s suit would be any more acceptable than mine, but he was a bit too arduous for my comfort. With his debts mounting quickly, and knowing of his numerous and easy conquests of the fairer sex, I didn’t want him stealing your heart. Whatever light you may view this in, please know that I did not want you to be hurt. And knowing how close you were to attaining your majority, I would not have put it past him to encourage you to elope with him.”

“How dare you.”

Viceroy blinked at her. “My dear, remember that I never intended you to know any of this. I am sorry for the pain it must cause you. But I did it all for an honorable reason.”

“Do not call me your dear,” Amelia retorted hotly, not a bit mollified.

Reaching into his coat pocket, Viceroy pulled out a slim packet of papers tied with a string. He removed the string and took them to Mrs. Wendover. “Here are the notes Henry brought to me, all sent within a fortnight. The early ones are signed Aston, and then A, and then not at all. You will see that the handwriting matches the note that was found here on the first night of the house party.”

Stanton felt himself at once relieved and curious when Viceroy did not reveal Patience’s part in the note being there.

“Henry missed that particular note,” Viceroy said. “Which he confessed and explained to me later. His mistake was in wanting Patience to receive flowers as he was so foolish as to admire her more than was proper.”

Mrs. Wendover had been examining the notes. She turned to Amelia. “Tell me, daughter, why you thought it wise to receive communications from a single gentleman? Such impropriety is bad enough, but the foolhardiness is more than I can understand.”

“I did not care to be wise,” Amelia said, putting up her chin.

“Well, you certainly were not, were you? Why in heaven’s name did you bring such a condemning missive into company?”

Amelia’s eyes flashed toward Patience, but to Stanton’s relief, she didn’t betray her. Instead, she shrugged. “I did not mean for it to be discovered.”

“I never knew you to be such a simpleton,” Mrs. Wendover said, standing and striding over to one of the candles, where she set the papers on fire and dropped them into the grate. She poked at them with her cane until they were all burned to ash.

Stanton watched Viceroy for his reaction. The man’s smirk made Stanton feel decidedly uneasy.

“You’ll be interested to know, Mrs. Wendover, that I anticipated that you might attempt to destroy my evidence. Those were merely forgeries of the originals, which I have safe.”

Stanton raised his eyebrows. “So yours was the hand that so deftly forged the other two copies I discovered.”

Viceroy bowed as if receiving a compliment. “I have become quite adept at Aston’s scrawl. And no doubt I will be able to prove to anyone’s satisfaction that Aston has compromised Amelia’s reputation.”

“What do you want?” Mrs. Wendover asked.

“Your blessing to our marriage,” he said, his voice calm and delicate.

“Very well,” she agreed, her expression hard as granite.

“And one more thing,” Viceroy continued. “You must give up your schemes to marry her cousin to Sir George. Miss Wendover must be allowed to marry Stanton instead.”

Stanton closed his eyes in frustration. No doubt the man thought he was doing him a prime favor, but he would soon hear differently.

“Ha.” Mrs Wendover smirked and looked to Stanton.

He stood and faced her. “I believe Patience is aware of my intentions, but that is for her and I to discuss. You have given up all rights to be a guide to her in the matter by your actions tonight.”

“Her mother gave her into my care,” Mrs. Wendover said. “And my husband is her legal guardian.”

Stanton did not even flinch at this information. “Excellent. Then I know with whom I should have this discussion, and madam, it is not you. Indeed, I find myself wondering what your husband will think when he hears of your treatment of her.”

Even in the dim lighting, he could see her countenance pale, but he didn’t spare her another glance when he realized that Patience was fleeing from the room. As he went after her, Viceroy called after him.

“Wait, Stanton. We must finish this.”

“I’ll have no part of it,” he threw over his shoulder as he strode to the door. “Neither Miss Wendover nor I are chess pieces for your strategy.”

Stanton shut the door firmly behind him, looking around to discover which way Patience had gone. He ran toward the stairs, concluding she could have gone nowhere else. If he did not intercept her before she reached her room, he would not be able to talk to her again at this late hour, and if what he feared was correct, that would be disastrous.

The time had come to make very certain Miss Wendover knew his mind—and heart—completely.

Chapter Twenty

Patience heard the quick footsteps running up the stairs behind her and knew without looking that it was Stanton. Humiliated beyond bearing that Viceroy had put them in such a situation, she didn’t know how she could bring herself to look at him. But she had to at some point, and better now when there was no one about. Somehow, she had to assure him that she in no way expected him to offer for her.

So taking her courage firmly in hand, she stopped on the landing of the first floor and waited for him.

“Miss Wendover,” Stanton said as he came up the last few steps. “Please allow me a few minutes conversation.”

“Yes. I wish to speak to you as well.”

He took a branch of lit candles from a nearby table and went to the door of the sitting room where they had spoken before. “I’m afraid you will need to put your reputation in my hands, but this cannot wait.”

“I trust you.” She stepped into the dark room and waited while he closed the door and set the candles on the mantle, where the large mirror magnified the light they gave off.

He came to her then, taking her hands in his and lifting them to his mouth. She scarcely breathed as his gentle lips pressed against her skin. Then he straightened and looked down at her with an expression so concerned, so fervent that she could do nothing but believe he was in earnest.

“Miss Wendover, I must assure you that no matter what I or others have said tonight, whether or not you marry me is entirely your decision to make. Forget your aunt and uncle, Mr. Viceroy, and even myself. I know I am likely not the sort of man you desire in a husband—”

At this, Patience broke into his speech, so confused that she couldn’t bear to keep quiet. “Whatever do you mean?”

As her eyes studied his expression, looking for a clue to his meaning, she saw the muscles of his jaw work as if he’d clenched his teeth. At last he returned her gaze and said, “I will try, Patience, but I am not by nature a romantic or effusive man. I feel a great deal, but my expression of it is likely more limited than will bring you joy. But I can assure you that my love for you has consumed my mind and possessed my heart since that evening in the park. My feelings have only grown and sweetened as I have come to know you better—your spirit, your courage, your captivating beauty. I am every day more aware that you deserve more than I am. And so, I assure you that the choice is yours. And only yours.”

With each word that he spoke, her heart seemed to swell within her chest. Such adoration surely could not be directed at her. He looked at once like the safe harbor she’d always longed for and the prince of her girlhood dreams, but with such humility that she rushed to reassure him, forgetting her own embarrassment for the moment.

“Do you think me still the silly, naïve girl who fell so foolishly in love with the idea of Lord Aston? And yes, it was only the idea of him. When presented with the reality of that type of man, I quickly discovered it was not my preference at all. A gentleman’s respect and concern for my well-being are so much more desirable and you have always given me both.”

His hands tightened around hers. “And always will. My dear, do you mean to tell me that I am acceptable to you?”

She smiled up at him, reveling in the expression on his face. “Acceptable is too tame a word. Until now, I thought the most thrilling experience in life was to be found on horseback or at the pianoforte, but now I know it is to be wanted by the gentleman of my choice and to see all my feelings for him reflected back at myself.”

His hands moved to her shoulders as he pulled her close. She thought that surely he was going to kiss her then, but he held back to ask, “Then why did you run just now, as if marrying me was not to your liking.”

“I couldn’t bear to be forced upon you when I did not know your intentions for certain. And indeed, I do think it is a very poor decision on your part to want to marry such an impoverished nobody.”

“Fortunately, my darling, I am in a position where I may marry to please myself and no one else. So, will you, Patience? Will you marry me? As soon as may be?”

“Yes, my lord, I will.”

And then Patience discovered that Harriet was right—even the most proper man is not at all reserved when kissing the woman he loves. In point of fact, by the way his lips moved over hers, each kiss more urgent and consuming than the last, she began to think that Lord Stanton had severely underestimated his abilities to express his feelings. No imaginings had come close to the experience at hand, and nothing on earth would have prompted her to end the embrace.

But Stanton was clearly as much in command of himself as he was of the kiss. He released her lips with a deeply drawn breath and rested his forehead on hers. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to always remember the way their warm, heavy breath intermingled, the way his hand curled about her neck, the way her swollen lips ached for more.

“I’m sorry,” he said, opening his eyes to study her. “I hope I have not disconcerted you.”

“Not at all. Forgive me for being improper, but I sincerely hope you will do it again soon.”

He laughed and kissed her forehead, then he pulled her against him, coaxing her head down to rest on his still-heaving chest. “You may believe I shall, but not tonight. This has already been a very dangerous path to be exploring at such an hour. Now, you must go to bed and trust me to arrange everything for you. Will you ride out with me in the morning so we may discuss it all?”

“Need you ask?”

He kissed her hands again as if he could not restrain himself and then led her to the door with a hand at her waist. He opened the door a crack and listened very carefully for a long moment before stepping out into the corridor.

He turned back to her. “Go quickly now before you’re seen.”

“Yes. Good night, my lord.”

Her hand slid through his, but he caught it. “Alex.”

“Alex,” she said, nodding. “When it is proper for me to call you so.”

His lips twisted into a half-smile. “You must be happy if you are teasing me.”

She could not stop the grin that pulled at her mouth. “I must be careful with my manners if I am to be a credit to you.” Without another glance, because already she could barely bring herself to leave him, she hurried away and up to the second floor to her bedchamber.

Dora waited up for her, stitching something by candlelight. She stood and dropped it on her chair as soon as Patience came in. “Please tell me what happened, miss, before I pop me buttons.”

Patience closed her eyes and smiled as she relived the memory of Lord Stanton’s kisses. “It was the singular most beautiful evening of my life.”

“But what about your aunt?”

“What do black glances signify when I have… Oh, Dora, I’m engaged to Lord Stanton.”

Dora clasped her hands over her chest and gave a strangled cry. “Oh, miss, I do wish you happy.”

“Thank you. Oh, but I don’t know what will happen after the ball when it is time to go home. I cannot return with Aunt Wendover. When I start to think of all the difficulties, I worry that something will interfere. I am…afraid to be happy.”

“Now, you let Lord Stanton worry about all that. You’ve nothing to think of but how much he loves you. And won’t that bring sweet dreams?”

Upon which, Patience remembered Lord Stanton’s kisses and blushed. “Glorious dreams.”

Chapter Twenty-One

When Patience met him at the stables the next morning, Stanton greeted her with a smile—though what he wanted to do was kiss her again. However, with the stable hands and Patience’s maid looking on, he could not.

She came to him, returning his smile with her hand held out, reaching for him. The tenderness and pleasure in her eyes made him at last understand how a man might succumb to writing poetry or effusive love letters. He was sure he would make a botch of it if he were to attempt either, so it was fortunate that neither was required.

“You’re wearing a different riding dress,” he noted.

“Harriet’s. I cannot tell you how humiliating it is to be forced to borrow clothing. It was enough to have only Amelia’s castoffs, but this is far worse.”

“Well, never mind that. Soon you will have the pleasure of choosing whatever gowns you like and more pin money than you’ll know what to do with. Oh, and I have excellent news for you,” he said, leading her over to Tempest.

“What? That we can be married this morning?”

Despite the humor in her voice, her words shot through him like lightening. It was more satisfying to his soul to know she wished to be his than any other pleasure life had ever given him. Tightening his grip on her hand, he gave up trying to resist her and kissed her cheek. “As much as I wish we could, sadly, no.”

She placed her foot in his hands and he tossed her into the saddle. After she settled into place and arranged her skirts, he handed her the riding crop Dora carried. He quickly mounted Hermes, and they road out of the stable yard together with Silas following behind. But for once, they did not gallop. Having time and privacy was too limited to waste it today.

“What is your news?” Patience prompted him when they were well across the first field.

“Lady Du’Breven is anxious to take you under her wing.”

“The Countess? But she doesn’t even know me.”

“Ah, but she and I are great friends. And in her words, she’d love to give Eliza Wendover her comeuppance. She wants to talk with you this afternoon––if you are agreeable––so that you may agree upon all the arrangements. Tomorrow morning, I intend to pay a visit to your mother and travel with her to the Countess’s home. The bans will then be read in Lady Du’Breven’s local church, and you and I will be married there. Does that sound satisfactory?”

She nodded and smiled. “You have thought of everything to make me comfortable, haven’t you?”

“That is my chief priority, yes. You must tell me if there is anything else I may do to achieve your happiness.”

“You may tell me about your home.”

“Morefield? Are you sure you dare ask me that? I may soon bore you to tears on that subject.”

She gave a delighted chuckle. “You may try to bore me, but since it is soon to be my home, I assure you that I want to know every detail of it.”

This pleased him so immensely that as they entered a wooded area, he reined in his horse. “Then let us walk for a time beneath the trees and I will tell you all about it.”

Once Silas had both of their mounts under his careful watch and they had walked some distance away, discussing Morefield was forgotten for a time as Stanton at last had the opportunity to take Patience in his arms and kiss her.

As he did so, he once again felt swept away by the warm and sweet, floral scent of her skin, by her delicate curves pressed against him, and by the powerful emotions that flowed between them. It threatened to destroy his famous restraint. However, he could not yet surrender to such temptations, not even so much as kissing the white skin of her elegant neck or undoing her hair so that he might run his fingers through it.

To make matters more difficult, his spirited bride-to-be proved to be an ardent and clever student of kissing. When he pulled back from her, it was only through a mighty force of will, and the fire he saw in her eyes as he did so was nearly his undoing.

Taking her hand, he pulled her in the direction of their horses.

“Where are we going?”

“We are resuming our ride before we get carried away.”

“But I enjoyed being carried away,” she protested.

“My darling love, there is a great deal more of that river we were embarking on than you have any notion of, and we cannot risk getting caught in that current.”

She was silent for a moment as they walked back together, their hands clasped. The only sounds were the birds overhead, the wind playing through the leaves of the trees and her skirts as she walked quickly to keep up with him. Taking a deep breath, he slowed his steps.

When they reached the horses and he put his hands at her waist to toss her up, she put her hands on his shoulders and gripped them to get his attention. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Always, love. Never doubt me.”

***

When Patience returned to her room, she paused in the doorway at the sight within. Two maids had joined Dora and they were in the process of returning all of her clothing to the wardrobe.

“What is this?” she asked, not at all sure if she should be pleased or throw the gowns out of the window.

Dora gave her a flat look. “As you see, miss, your aunt has returned it all for your use. And she bade me give you this.”

Patience took the letter Dora held out to her. She found that her hand shook, so she moved over to the window to read it where the maids would not be able to see her reaction to it.

Her aunt wished to speak privately with her in the green salon after luncheon. There was some hint as to wishing to apologize, but Patience had no doubt that if she did, it would not be said with any true sincerity. Still, it was time she informed her aunt of her plans.

“Dora, help me change, please.”

When Patience was dressed, she went downstairs and found the rest of the ladies enjoying a lazy tea with Lady Blakemore. Various cold meats, cheeses, pickles, and fruit were provided for their sustenance, but Patience found that she did not have much appetite with her stomach in knots. She sat beside Harriet and sipped her tea, letting its heat and fragrance soothe her spirits. Fortunately, her aunt was not in the room.

“Miss Percy, may I sit beside your friend?”

Patience and Harriet looked up together and found Lady Du’Breven standing before them.

“Of course, my lady,” Harriet said, standing up at once. She hurried away to sit beside her mother but cast Patience a look that clearly demanded a full account later.

As the Countess sat down beside her, Patience wondered how they could possibly have their conversation with so many listening ears.

“May I get you a cup of tea, my lady?”

“Thank you, no, my girl. I’ve had one already. I merely wanted to ask if you’ll come visit me in my room in a bit. I always have a rest before dinner, and since the ball is tonight, I believe I will do so earlier than usual. But I cannot rest until we have had a chat.”

“Of course I will.” Patience glanced at the clock on the wall. “My aunt has asked me to speak with her in the green salon. I must go in just a moment. But I will come to you after that.”

The Countess put her hand on Patience’s arm, and though her fingers looked frail, their reassuring squeeze was strong. “Would you like me to come with you?”

Patience was tempted to accept this, but there were things she wished to say to her aunt without anyone present to hear them. “Thank you, but no.”

“Very well. No doubt one of the servants will be able to direct you to my room.”

When she had gone, Patience finished her tea and rose from her seat. She put her cup down on a tray near Lady Blakemore. “Thank you for tea, my lady. My aunt is waiting to speak to me, if you’ll excuse me.”

“Of course, my dear.”

Patience kept her shoulders straight as she left the room, but couldn’t forebear holding one hand against her stomach. Her nerves were making her feel decidedly ill. When she got to the green salon, she took a deep breath and entered, reminding herself that there was nothing her aunt could do to her now—not with her friends to protect her.

But inside, she saw only Sir George. He was seated in an armchair facing the door, and when he saw her, he struggled to his feet.

“Pardon me, sir. I must have the wrong room.”

But when she turned to go out again, she found her aunt blocking the way. “You are where you should be, niece. And here you will stay to receive, and accept, Sir George’s offer. You may think yourself free to defy me, but I promise there is much I can yet do to force your obedience, should you make it necessary.”

Without giving Patience a chance to respond, she left, closing the door behind her.

Patience ran to the door, determined that she would not stay, whatever her aunt threatened, but just as she put her hand on the knob, she heard the sound of the lock being turned.

Her aunt had locked her in.

Spinning around, she kept her back against the door and eyed Sir George as if he were a wolf or a lion instead of a rather feeble old man.

“Sir, I beg you will not.”

“Come now, my dove.” Sir George walked toward her as if approaching a wary horse. “There is no need to be afraid. I mean only to make you the happiest of women by offering my hand in marriage. I will shower you with jewels and gowns, and we’ll spend every season in London. If you’re a dutiful wife, I’ll even look the other way if you engage in discreet romances. Now what is there in that to make you go all white?”

“I am sorry, sir, but I cannot accept.”

“No, no. Now don’t worry about playing shy. I know all the games. Just tell me yes, and then all will be well.”

By now he had come close enough to touch her. But he did not. Still, he now seemed a looming and much more formidable presence—especially with his brows drawn together and a scowl deepening the lines on his face.

“I cannot sir, nor do I wish to. I am already betrothed to Lord Stanton.”

Sir George’s face grew red and mottled. “What is this? Your aunt said nothing of this.”

“She does not yet know. I was coming here so that I could tell her. It was certainly not to receive your attentions, nor to be locked up here with you against my will.”

Instead of backing away in defeat as Patience had hoped, Sir George took another step toward her. “So, only Stanton knows as yet, eh? Well, then, I’ll be sure to make it so that he’ll want nothing to do with you. In the end, you’ll be glad to have me. No doubt your aunt will arrange for us to be discovered here soon.”

Patience gasped and turned away, twisting and shaking the knob though she knew it was pointless. Sir George’s hands closed around her waist, and she screamed, banging upon the door. Just as she felt his hot breath on her neck, the tumblers of the lock clicked and the door opened.

Looking up through tear-filled eyes, she made out Amelia standing before her. She grabbed Patience by the hand and pulled. Patience felt Sir George’s fingers tighten painfully around her, but Amelia’s hand shot out over Patience’s shoulder, hitting something, and he let go. Not waiting to see what had happened, Patience ran, Amelia following close behind her.

As they rushed up the stairs, Amelia said, “I cannot take you to my room or my mother will find you there. And you cannot go to yours.”

“Lady Du’Breven. She will take care of me.”

Amelia asked a passing maid to take them there. When they entered her room, the Countess took one look at them both and asked, “What in heaven’s name has happened?”

“My aunt locked her in with Sir George,” Amelia said, helping her to a seat. “I believe I got her out before…before he…trespassed too far.”

“Come to me, child,” Lady Du’Breven said, her voice a command.

Though she had never before exchanged more than pleasantries with the woman, Patience went to her and welcomed her embrace.

“I was so scared,” she said, her whole body still tense and trembling from the ordeal.

“There, there. You are safe now,” the Countess said, her voice lacking its usual sharpness.

Amelia gave her a handkerchief and rubbed her back.

The gesture touched Patience. She was already so grateful to her cousin. And surprised. Amelia had only ever tolerated her and at times had even seemed to loathe her—yet she had saved her from a desperate situation.

Perhaps they could yet be friends.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Patience had no desire to go to the ball that night. After a long nap in Lady Du’Breven’s room, it took a vast amount of courage for her to even leave the safety of that chamber. But the Countess was determined that she should not hide away like a scared rabbit.

“We must give Stanton an opportunity to show the world that he is courting you. The sooner that is established, the safer you are. And you must not give your aunt a chance to imply that you are hiding away because anything untoward happened with Sir George.”

“You are right, of course. But, oh, how I shall loathe it.”

The Countess nodded as her dresser placed a stunning emerald necklace about her neck. In a grey silk evening gown and a turban with eight feathers, the elderly lady was an elegant and imposing sight. “You will often face such trying ordeals in your life, my girl, but it is better to go through them with your head held high. Just remember that in the morning, your life will have changed for the better. And, oh, what fun you and I shall have in London putting together your trousseau.”

With this cheerful thought in mind, Patience went to her room and found Dora there ready to dress her. Dora was still busy with her hair when Amelia came into the room. To Patience’s amazement, she was not dressed in a ball gown, but in a carriage dress.

“Amelia? What are you—”

Lifting a hand, Amelia interrupted her, “I came to say goodbye.”

“But where are you going? Surely my aunt is not leaving before the ball.”

Amelia came and knelt beside her chair and took her hands. “My mother knows nothing of this, and I beg you will not tell her. You know as well as I do that if I am to find happiness, I must find it myself. After seeing what my mother is capable of, I am determined that I will not be forced into one of her schemes. She wants a title for me and cares for nothing else. But I am of age and have a small fortune of my own.”

“But how can you travel alone? And where will you go?”

“I will not be alone, and I have a destination in mind, but I will not divulge it—do not press me. I only tell you at all because I do not want you to be alarmed when it is discovered that I am gone.”

“Amelia, I cannot help but worry that you are throwing yourself into some scrape and that I should help you.”

She rose then and shook off Patience’s clinging hands. “Please trust that I have my affairs well in hand. I wish you every happiness, Patience. Please let me find my own.”

There was nothing Patience could say to this, so she nodded and rose to embrace her cousin, which Amelia received with stiff shoulders but great patience.

“Be safe. And good luck.”

But when Amelia had gone, Patience could not help worrying what Amelia might be about. Who was she traveling with? Her maid perhaps? Where did she get a carriage, and where was she going? The questions continued to plague her mind as she went downstairs.

The guests of the house party met as usual in the drawing room before the dinner that preceded the ball. A few of the gentry from the surrounding countryside had been invited to join them, so the room was abuzz with conversation as she went in. More guests would be arriving for the ball later.

As she went in, she paused a moment and found Stanton across the room. He seemed to be keeping a lookout for her, because he saw her at once and came to her.

He bowed over her hand and pressed a real kiss there. “Miss Wendover. You look exceptionally beautiful, but there is a crease in your brow that concerns me.”

“So much has happened since this morning.”

His jaw tensed. “Your aunt?”

“Yes.” Patience looked around as she spoke, afraid to see her aunt’s eyes upon her.

Then, from across the room, she discovered Sir George glaring malevolently at her. The flesh around his right eye had darkened—no doubt due to Amelia striking him.

Aunt Wendover stood in front of him, facing the other way, but she turned around when Sir George spoke to her.

“Stanton,” Patience said, her voice a strangled whisper.

“I see them. Let us step away so you may tell me what has occurred.”

He gave her his arm while taking a survey of the room and then leading her over to Lady Du’Breven. As soon as the Countess saw them approaching, she said something to the elderly gentlemen seated next to her, and he ambled away.

Patience sat beside her, feeling foolish but grateful for the lady’s protection. Stanton stepped away and returned with a small side chair which he placed next to the Countess.

“Now, let me have every detail.”

She paused, however, her instincts telling her that Stanton would likely react violently to hearing the full account of what had occurred in the green salon. She made up her mind and said, “My aunt put me in the position of receiving an offer from Sir George. When I refused him, he was angry.” Patience glanced at the Countess and saw that her brow was slightly raised, but she said nothing, so Patience continued, “I merely wish to avoid being around him.”

“There are a few names I would like to call your aunt if not for your presence. Do I need to speak with Sir George?”

“Not at this moment. There is something else that has me worried at the moment. Amelia has run away.”

“What’s this?” Stanton asked.

“She came to my room and said that she was leaving. She is not alone, but would not tell me with whom she was traveling or where she is going. I could not deter her and there was such desperation in her face that I could not find it in me to press her further. But I am worried about her. I’m sure she has done something foolish.”

Stanton heard her out in silence, but when she had finished, he stood and turned to look over the gathering crowd. As he did so, Lady Blakemore signaled to the guests that was time to adjourn to the dining room. When Patience stood, he murmured, “Aston is missing as well.”

Her heart sank. “No. Surely she could not have been so foolish.”

“I am quite certain, however, that he could be so depraved. It is quite certain, at least, that he will marry her, since that is the only way to her fortune, but even so, her reputation will no doubt suffer.”

“But Stanton, that is the least of it. She will be miserable in such a union. Oh, what can I do to stop her?”

Lord Stanton flexed his hands into fists. “There is nothing you can do, but I will endeavor to stop them on your behalf. How long ago did your cousin leave?”

Patience looked at the clock over the mantle. “It cannot yet have been an hour.”

“They will be traveling by carriage. Do not worry. I will overtake them soon. If so, I will bring her back tonight. Lady Du’Breven?”

“I will guard your lady love. As for her cousin, we will decide what is best done when you have returned with her. And be sure to give Aston the thrashing he deserves.”

Stanton did not stay a moment longer. He wove his way through the crowd still moving out of the room. As he disappeared from sight, the Countess threw her an approving look.

“Way to keep your wits about you, child. If you had told Stanton the full account of Sir George’s infamy, he would not now be on the road to save your cousin, but venting his spleen instead.”

Patience nodded. “So I thought. And he will yet know of it, but only after Amelia is safe. Why do you suppose Amelia would leave with Aston? She spoke to me of wanting to find happiness.”

“I cannot say, child. Did you not yourself, at one time, feel a preference for Aston?”

“Yes, but that was before I discovered what he was. And before I began to…” But Patience stopped there, too shy to continue with what she had been about to say.

“To love Lord Stanton? Well, then let us hope Amelia may yet make such discoveries for herself before it is too late.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Stanton was relieved to find his valet still in his room. “I need riding clothes, Owen,” he said. “And be quick about it.”

The man looked amazed but didn’t say a word as he hurried forward to help Stanton remove his waistcoat. In very little time, he was changed from his evening dress to buckskin breeches and a wool coat, with a greatcoat over his arm. Taking the back stairs at a mad pace, he soon reached the stables. Hopefully, Silas had not decided to imbibe too deeply. He was known to do so occasionally on a night when he would not be needed.

However, Stanton found the stables a hub of activity with all of the horses from the extra guests. He grabbed one of the stable boys running by and said, “I need you to find Silas and send him to me.”

“Ay, milor’. Right away.”

When Silas came at a run, he fortunately seemed more aghast than drunk. “My lord. Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes. Saddle Hermes for me. There is no time to waste.”

As Silas hurried to work, Stanton joined him and they made quick work of it together. Hermes stamped impatiently, no doubt catching some of his master’s anxiety.

“Silas, I’ll finish up here. I need you to go and see if either Aston’s carriage or the Wendover carriage is missing.”

As the groom darted away, Stanton gave Hermes a final check, not wanting anything to be amiss with him that would make an already treacherous ride even more so. Satisfied, he led the stallion out into the stable yard and mounted. He waited impatiently for Silas while Hermes twitched and tamped his hooves.

Another figure came out of the shadows from the direction of the main house. “Stanton, I saw you leave. What’s toward?”

Stanton muttered a curse as Viceroy came up to him. “It is not my business to tell you, sir. And I have no time to stand about explaining it all.”

“Is it concerning Miss Wendover and Aston? Neither of them are present at dinner, and it is too marked a coincidence not to give me grave suspicions.”

“Why?” Stanton asked, his voice mocking. “Did your schemes last evening go awry?”

“The lady is yet to be convinced of my love.”

“Behold me amazed, Viceroy—so loverlike as you have been.”

At last, Silas came running out again, his stocky figure silhouetted against the lantern light of the stables.

“Aston’s carriage and horses are gone, my lord, as are his coachman and groom. Gone near two hours since.”

Viceroy heard and shouted, “I knew it must be so! Stanton, I’ll join you. This is a matter I must see to.”

“I have no time to spare, Viceroy. You may follow if you wish.”

On those uncompromising words, Stanton set Hermes into motion. He kept him to a canter until they had cleared the long drive, since the way was narrow and there were carriages still making their way to the house for the ball. But once on the road, he urged him into a gallop.

Hermes flew over the dark ground, eager and willing for such a ride, but Stanton kept a close eye on the road, not wanting to injure the stallion by landing him in a hole. Fortunately, the moon was full and low, casting enough light over the countryside to make it easy to see the way ahead.

He cared very little for Amelia Wendover, and had Patience not been so concerned, he might have let the runaway couple suffer the consequences of their choice. They would not thank him for interfering—especially with Viceroy hard upon his heels.

Stanton did not have success in running them down at the first two posting houses along the road, nor did he expect to. But when he came to an inn at a crossroad, he had better luck.

“Ay sir,” said the host of the Cock and Quarry. “We have a gentleman and his sister in our private parlor now. A restive pair, make no mistake—and my wife certain that they are no more related than you and I are.”

“Thank you. Will you see to my horse while I pay them a visit?”

“Certainly. And a proper high-bred ‘un he is too.”

Stanton strode inside, his boots resounding on the wooden floor. He passed the taproom on his right, and went beyond it to the door at the end of the hall. He flung it wide without knocking and found a scene inside which bore all the trappings of a gothic novel.

Sir Aston stood before the fireplace in his shirtsleeves, clutching his face with one hand while holding onto Amelia’s wrist with the other. Amelia looked to the door, her eyes desperate and pleading. There was a flicker of disappointment on her face, but she still reached out to him.

“Lord Stanton, please.”

In four strides, he made it across the room and threw a hard, direct punch at Sir Aston’s face. Without his hands free to defend himself, Aston turned his head and took the blow on his jaw, crumpling to the floor.

Resisting the urge to kick him, Stanton sneered down at his prone figure and lax face. Three scratches, likely from Amelia’s fingernails, marred his cheek.

“Good for you,” he told Amelia, turning toward her at last.

She launched herself into his arms, and he found himself in the awkward position of consoling an overwrought lady for whom he felt very little kindness.

“My lord, I did not know he would use me so.”

“Surely you might have considered the possibility before you eloped with him.”

“But he doesn’t even care for me!”

“Then, by gads, woman, why did you leave with him?”

“So that Viceroy would come after me and prove he cared about me.”

Stanton stared at her, amazed at her foolishness. “And you never considered that with such a fortune as yours, Aston might try to compromise you and secure you for himself?”

“No. I had not thought it would take so long for Viceroy to come. I was sure Patience would run to him first thing, knowing how I love him.”

Stanton was all out of charity with her by this point and turned away to study Aston, who now lay groaning on the floor.

“Viceroy should be here shortly.”

“Oh, he is coming? Does he really care for me indeed?”

“I cannot know, Miss Wendover. You will have to ask him.”

He went to the table then and picked up the half-empty tankard of ale that sat abandoned there. He poured it over Aston’s face, feeling a small measure of satisfaction as the man choked and sat up.

“What happened?” Aston asked, wiping his eyes on his shirtsleeves.

“You’ve received just payment for your infamy.”

“Stanton? That you? I didn’t elope with the wrong Miss Wendover, did I? I seem to have the most devilish time with them.”

“Either Miss Wendover was the wrong Miss Wendover.”

Aston looked around and found Amelia watching out the window. “Ah, no, that’s the plain one. My head is spinning like a top. I suppose it was you who gave me that leveler, Stanton?”

“Yes, and I only regret that you succumbed to the first. I should have liked to get in a few more good hits.”

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the direction of the hall. Stanton turned in time to see Viceroy stride in and take in the scene at a glance. Ignoring the two men, he went at once to Amelia.

“My darling, are you hurt?”

She turned from the window and looked for a moment as if she might run into his embrace. But she held back. “I am not. Nor do I believe that I am your darling.”

Viceroy looked pained. “But have you not seen the lengths that I have gone to in order to make you my own? Have I not been unfailing in my adoration of you all these years?”

“But why?”

“Why?” Viceroy asked, confused.

“I am not pretty or dainty or talented. Why do you admire me if not for my fortune?”

Stanton saw that Viceroy looked askance at him and Aston, but even though he lowered his voice, his words were still easily discernable. “Because you are like myself––clever and observant. And you have an elegance and pride that is much more becoming to a woman than mere beauty. I cannot express myself well enough. Just know that I admire you for qualities that will not fade but only become more valuable with time.”

“And my fortune?”

Viceroy nodded. “I’ll not insult your intelligence to say that it will not be welcome. But so would it be to any man. And I assure you, you could not tie yourself to any man who would treasure you more than I will.”

“You are the first man to ever say such things while looking me in the eyes. You did so long ago when you first made your offer, and now you do again.”

“So you believe me?”

Amelia nodded and flew at him. Viceroy held out his arms and caught her. Stanton shook his head, somewhat relieved to have that resolved but not caring to witness such a display.

“Well, that’s the end of my hopes,” Aston said, pulling himself up off of the ground. He touched the scratches on his cheek. “I wonder if he knows he’s marrying a shrew?”

“That’s no concern of ours, I thank Providence,” Stanton said. “Viceroy, what are your plans?”

“If Amelia has no objection, I intend to discover a rector or some such and be married tonight. I’ve had a special license in my pocket since we left London.”

Stanton eyed the man with respect. “At long last, you behold me envious of your plotting.” He turned away. “Come, Aston, you cannot stay here. You would be decidedly in the way.”

“I’m not going back to the Blakemores’, if that’s what you are thinking. Not looking like this.” Aston pointed to the war wounds on his cheek. “I’m for London.”

“Where no doubt you’ll rot in a drunken stupor. Well, I’ve no argument to make. Just see that you take yourself off. I have matters of my own to attend to.”

Without a single look over his shoulder, Stanton went to find the stables to reclaim his horse. Soon he was back on the road to the Blakemore’s ball, hoping that surely now the worst was behind him—though he had every intention of having a conversation with Mrs. Wendover before embarking on his future with Patience.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The ball was full of bright, glittering, laughing people, but Patience could not enjoy it. Despite being asked several times to dance, she smiled and accepted only because manners required it of her. For the most part, she stayed seated by the Countess, watching the door to the ballroom for Stanton’s return, even though she knew it was much too early to expect him, even with the most optimistic outcome.

“Have you noticed, my dear,” Lady Du’Breven said, “that Mr. Viceroy is not present and was not at dinner?”

“No. No wonder Lady Blakemore was flustered at dinner—with four of her guests missing. The wonder is that my aunt has not approached to ask where Amelia is.”

The Countess nodded. “No doubt she has been making her own enquiries. There is a spectacular brittleness about her smile tonight, do you not think?”

Though unwilling to see her aunt, Patience turned in the direction she had last seen her and shivered when she met her aunt’s eyes. They were certainly cold and determined.

The country dance currently being enjoyed by the company came to an end. There was a stir at the end of the ballroom, not far from where Patience and Lady Du’Breven sat. Lord Blakemore stood upon the raised dais where the orchestra played.

“Good evening. I am in the happy position of being asked to announce two betrothals this evening and ask that you may all join with me in wishing these couples joy.  Miss Harriet Percy has accepted the hand of The Right Honorable The Viscount Adlington.”

As the crowd applauded, Patience looked for her friend and found Harriet standing near Lord Blakemore, her hand through Adlington’s. Their joy was apparent in the smiles they gave one another. Who was the second couple? Someone who lived close by and had come to the ball?

“And it is with great pleasure,” Lord Blakemore continued, “that I also announce the betrothal of my good friend Sir George Hallister to Miss Patience Wendover.”

While the guests applauded and Lord Blakemore smiled benignly, looking about the room, Patience felt her blood turn to ice as waves of horror washed over her. “What has she done?”

Lady Du’Breven began to stand. “That creature! I’ll not stand for this.”

But Patience was ahead of her, rushing forward to put an end to this scheme before her aunt’s latest trap became a lifelong cage. Denying the betrothal would cause a scandal, as well her aunt knew, but such was her anger and indignation that she cared only for escape.

She wove her way through the crowd, ignoring the felicitations offered her on every side. As she broke through it to the open space on the dance floor, she found that her aunt and Sir George stood together, also receiving the congratulations of those around them with self-satisfied smiles. Harriet looked stunned and on the point of tears. Well, Patience would put the matter straight, no matter the consequences.

“It is not true,” she said, loudly. At first only those closest to her heard and grew silent. She said it again, raising her voice still further. “My aunt has made a grievous mistake. I am not betrothed to Sir George. I refused his offer in no uncertain manner, so I must correct this misapprehension. Pray accept my apologies.”

A delighted and shocked murmur swept through the room like a gust of wind.

“Patience!” Aunt Wendover gasped. “You are embarrassing us. Do not make it necessary for me to share precisely why it is that you are marrying Sir George.”

The threat was obvious—that she would claim Sir George had compromised her. No doubt everyone who had heard her knew what she meant. To continue meant Patience’s ruin through scandal, but she would not draw back. If only Lord Stanton had been here so that she might announce their engagement, but he was not. In the end, she would effectively lose her chance at happiness in an effort to save Amelia.

“Miss Wendover has stated her wishes,” came a deep and familiar voice behind her. Lord Stanton came to stand at her side, still dressed for riding. “The matter is therefore at an end.”

Patience’s relief was immeasurable. In a moment when she had been sure her courage would fail, he had arrived to support her. But even as his presence meant a reprieve from this horrific ordeal, a wrenching awareness crept through her. The proper Lord Stanton, whose character had never been smirched in any way, had now been thrust into a scandal that no doubt would fly on winged tongues across the breadth of England.

He had gone just this night to rescue her eloping cousin, stood now in a ballroom in buckskins and a greatcoat, dressing down her aunt in front of a crowd of interested onlookers, and was undertaking to join his good name to a woman who could offer him nothing but disgrace as her dowry.

There was no possible way she could do that to him. And no matter what he felt for her, which she did not doubt, she knew that it would hurt him in the end if she did not release him from the engagement. Perhaps if she had not rushed headlong into battle with her aunt, everything would be different. But there was no drawing back now from the consequences of what she had done.

She had suffered many ills at her aunt’s hand—the loss of pastimes that brought her joy and solace, the snuffing out of her personality, and her duplicity with Sir George. But though Patience would never wed Sir George, her aunt had won now after all. Numbly, Patience watched the unfolding scandal, a helpless spectator to the tragedy she saw on her horizon.

Aunt Wendover had not yet given up. “You tell me that you are engaged to my niece, sir? Then how is it that she was closeted earlier in the day with—”

“Madam, you will hold your tongue,” Stanton commanded, speaking over her. And such was the fury in his voice that her aunt faltered, whitened, and fell silent. When he was sure she would be quiet, Stanton lowered his voice. “Let us continue this discussion somewhere else, where we may be private. I have no wish to provide further entertainment for the Blakemore’s guests.”

Patience’s heart sank, hearing in his voice how much he hated this spectacle. She might not have been able to move had she not felt the Countess’s hand in hers, leading her along. Stanton stood waiting for her, concern etched in his expression. It gutted her that he could still look at her that way, even after everything she had done to him.

Stanton looked away from her then, his attention turned to someone over her shoulder. “This is not your affair, Sir George. You will remain here.”

“I will not. I have been robbed of my intended. Demme if I don’t sue for breach of promise.”

Stanton towered over Sir George, an imposing force as he stared down his nose at him. “If half of what I suspect about your treatment of Miss Wendover is true, you may thank heaven that you are old enough to be my grandfather. Your age has saved you from being horsewhipped.”

Sir George sputtered, his skin darkening to an alarming shade of crimson before he stormed off in the other direction.

Stanton held out his arm to Patience in a very proper manner and led her from the room as if she were a queen and not a poor nobody who had just scandalized the ton. As they went, Patience felt every eye upon them as if they were thorns in her flesh. How they would gossip and speculate and delight in this, like carrion crows catching the scent of blood in the air.

As they left the ballroom, the whispered murmurs grew into a roar, but Stanton paid no heed as he led them downstairs to Lord Blakemore’s library. He led Patience to a well-worn armchair and took care that Lady Du’Breven was also seated comfortably, before turning to face her aunt.

“I cannot think what you have to say to me,” her aunt said, glaring at Stanton. “I know not how Patience managed to captivate you so far that you have forgotten all that is due to your name, but so she has. And no doubt when you have come to regret this night’s actions, you will remember that had you kept from me interfering, you might have been free of her.”

Stanton shook his head. “I cannot determine if you believe the poison spewing from your mouth or if you truly are the hag that you have shown yourself to be. It is of no matter, however, as you will henceforth have nothing to do with us. I wished only to tell you that Patience is now under Lady Du’Breven’s protection until our nuptials may be arranged.”

“And so she might have her with my good will. I hope never to set eyes on her again.”

But as she turned to leave, Stanton said, “You may wish to know that your daughter is likely become Mrs. Viceroy.”

Patience blinked, wondering how such a thing had occurred. But then remembering all that Amelia had confided in her, she thought perhaps it was precisely what her cousin had intended all along.

“No.” Aunt Wendover turned, her eyes widening with shock. “But she left with Lord Aston. I made sure that it was so.”

“She did leave with him,” Stanton said. “But Aston found himself in the unenviable position of playing the villain in a rather tame gothic tale and has taken himself off to London to lick his wounds. And you now have a son-in-law you would do well not to cross swords with.”

“A plain mister? All my efforts, all my planning? Her, with her breeding and fortune, to throw herself away when she might have had an earl? Aston is a dissolute wreck, but she would have been a countess. What a fool!”

Unable to hold her tongue a moment longer, Patience said, “No, she was not a fool. She is one of the most courageous women I have ever known, and she has managed for herself what you would not give her. I hope she finds great happiness, for I think that she has had very little of it in her lifetime.”

“Happiness? That’s nothing but a young girl’s dream. You’ll learn that soon enough when the roses of your infatuation have begun to rot.”

Upon those words, Aunt Wendover spun and left the room. The door slammed behind her. In the silence that fell, Patience felt as if a nightmare had ended. But there was no relief, because her life would soon become nothing but dreary, endless loneliness, made all the worse because she had a brief moment where she dared to hope for the sun.

Stanton came to her then and knelt before her. He took both of her hands and looked up into her eyes. “Patience, I confess I desperately want to know what you were subjected to by your aunt and Sir George, but if you don’t wish to tell me, I will never ask again.”

Touched beyond words and feeling ever more unworthy of this man, Patience withdrew her hands from his grasp and framed his face with them. “Sir George did indeed try to embrace me, and it was terrifying, but Amelia saved me before he had done more than grasp my waist. I shudder to think what might have happened if she had not come, but she did.”

Stanton’s face hardened, and his eyes lit with anger. He stood and strode to the other end of the room, where he braced himself with one hand on the mantle over the fireplace. Every line of his back and shoulders showed the storm of anger raging within him. But after a minute, he turned again, calmer. “Remind me, my dear, to send Mrs. Viceroy a splendid wedding gift. Nothing could ever repay my gratitude to her, but I shall endeavor to do so.”

His words were so full of the future, of the partnership they might have together, that her eyes watered. How resolute he was—the perfect gentleman. But no matter how honorable he might be, she had to be more honorable still.

She stood, determined. “Stanton, I must say something.”

He tilted his head, looking puzzled at her tone. “Of course. What is it?”

She clenched her fists together and took a deep breath. “I appreciate the vast honor you have done me, but loving you as I do, I cannot hold you to a promise that will only bring you harm. I release you.” The last words came out as little more than a tremulous gasp before she turned and fled through the French doors to the dark gardens beyond.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Stanton watched her leave, frozen to immobility by the shock of her words. Surely she could not have just said what he thought he’d just heard.

“You great booberkin,” the Countess admonished. “Go after the girl.”

Her furious tone spurred him to action at last. In just a few strides, he crossed the room and was out the door. The moon shone brightly on the lush, sleepy gardens, illuminating the gravel walks and hedges. But even so, the shadows cast by the light were deep, and it was only by chance that he caught sight of Patience’s gown as she turned the corner into a walled garden.

His boots fell loudly on the pathway as he went after her, so he hoped she would not try to avoid him. He did not understand what had led her to take such a step, but he prayed that whatever troubled her would not prove an impossible hinderance.

When he came into the walled garden, he found her standing still, her face bowed into a handkerchief, sobs wracking her slender shoulders. He ached to see her suffering and swore to himself that he would do anything to ease her pain—even if that was to let her go.

He approached her slowly and spoke gently. “Will you tell me what has happened? I cannot bear to see you hurting.”

Patience turned slightly, though not enough to face him. “I am trying my best to be noble. Please do not dissuade me—I don’t know that I have the strength to forebear.”

The fear in his chest began to ease away. No, this was not because her feelings had changed. So long as she loved him, surely anything else could be rectified. In a few unhurried steps, he closed the distance between them and grasped her bowing shoulders. “That argument is not a very strong inducement, love, since that is precisely what I want to happen. Can you tell me what is troubling you?”

“You are too kind—hiding your feelings over the scandal I’ve created. I know you must be repulsed by it. Indeed, how could you not be? If only I had held my tongue and dealt with my aunt later, perhaps it would not have been so terrible, but I did. Oh, Alex, I cannot ask you to subject yourself further to the mess I have created.”

“My reputation? That is your concern?” He moved around to stand in front of her, raising her face with a gentle nudge. “Why should that worry you when it doesn’t worry me in the least? I promise you that I never set out to establish the reputation I have, and sometimes it has irked me past bearing—like when a certain young lady found me dull and comfortable.”

Her lips twitched then, and she gave a small chuckle. “Oh dear. I am sorry about that.”

“I believe I told you then that it is only because I am by nature prudent and sober…not because I care a farthing for what others think of me. When I returned tonight, covered in dust from the road and anxious to reach my bedchamber to wash and change into evening dress, I heard someone in the hall exclaiming that you were betrothed to Sir George. And let me tell you that I didn’t care a farthing that by shouldering my way into the ballroom I would set all the tabbies talking. I cared for nothing but getting to you.”

“But Stanton, I have nothing to offer you…and now not even my good name.”

“I want nothing more from you than the chance to love you and make you happy. You have brought zest and energy and life into my existence. What more could I want than to wake up every day to more time with you?”

She leaned into him, as if seeking his strength and support. “I do not know how I came to be so fortunate, and I am sure that I do not deserve it. But, Alex, I am selfish enough to want you despite knowing you could do so much better.”

His heart eased still further. “Then, please, be selfish forever.”

She looked up at him finally, and he stood mesmerized by the sparkle of moonlight and tears in her eyes. “If you were to kiss me, I am quite certain I would not be able to hold out against you any longer.”

Hearing the note of humor in her hopeful voice, he smiled. “Then prepare to have your resistance shatter, my dear. And if you should ever begin to have such worries again, let me know immediately so that I might distract you from them again.”

***

Patience awoke the next morning longing to see Stanton. Impatiently waiting for Dora to come in so that she might dress, she went to the window and opened the draperies to let the morning sunlight flood into her room. She raised her chin to meet its warmth and smiled to realize that it could not compare to the sunshine in her heart.

How delightful it had been to return to her bedchamber last night in rapturous wonder that Stanton still wanted her. If his words, which had fallen like healing nectar on her troubled spirits, had not been enough to convince her, then his heady, consuming kisses certainly had been.

Romance, it seemed, came much more naturally to him than he had any idea of. Had he not bathed her in kisses in a moonlit garden and then spent ages walking about with her, picking flowers to drop in her hair, simply because he could not bear to part with her? And what man could possibly be more passionate than Stanton had become in defense of her?

Dora came in, a pitcher of water in one hand and a smile on her face. “Oh, miss, you never did hear such an uproar as has been this morning. The servants’ hall is full of how Lord Stanton burst in upon the ball and stole you from the ogre’s snare.”

Patience went and bathed her face. “Sir George is most certainly an ogre.”

Dora went to the wardrobe and brought out Patience’s riding dress, which she wore for traveling. “And your eyes would pop to hear what they’re saying about your aunt. And where do you think they’re hearing it but from their masters and mistresses? And with Miss Amelia and Mr. Viceroy and Lord Aston all being gone this morning…well, no one wants to leave, you may be sure of that, not with so much to talk over.”

Patience smiled and stepped into the dress. “I, however, cannot wait to leave.”

“And no wonder, miss, what with your fine gentleman accompanying you and Lady Du’Breven to London. And we’re to go shopping for all sorts of London finery! And her dresser, Brimbsy, is to teach me all sorts of things I must know to be a lady’s maid for a baroness.”

“Are you happy, Dora? Will you like going to Morefield?”

“Oh yes, miss, ever so much. To hear that valet Owen talk, it must be near to heaven. And to think of the position I will have in such a household!”

Patience sat at the dressing table, but turned and caught Dora’s hand before she began brushing her hair. “I’m glad you are happy. You have been so kind and so loyal to me that it just adds to my joy to see you blessed as well.”

Dora’s eyes misted. She sniffed hard. “Now, don’t make me cry, or I’ll never get you ready to greet your betrothed, who I heard is anxiously awaiting you at the breakfast table.”

With a wave of excited urgency, Patience hurried through the rest of her toilette and hurried down to meet him.

Stanton rose as she came in, bestowing a brilliant smile on him. If she had her way, he would never again pass a day without smiling a dozen times.

They were not alone, of course, for Mr. Stanley and Mrs. Percy and both of the Emery sisters were already at the table, but beyond a greeting to them, the engaged couple kept very much to themselves. After the trauma of the evening before, Patience wanted as little interaction with other guests as possible.

“Will you be ready to depart soon?” Stanton asked her, filling her tea cup.

“I have very few belongings, and no doubt Dora will have them packed in a trice.”

“Excellent. I believe the Countess is prepared to set out soon. And I have a surprise for you.”

Patience smiled. “Oh, what is it?”

He gave her a small, secretive smile and shook his head. “Just wait.”

An hour later, after thanking the Blakemores and bidding them farewell, Stanton handed Patience into Lady Du’Breven’s carriage. It was a well-sprung and surprisingly modern equipage with thick cushions that no doubt would be exceedingly comfortable, but Patience could not help but envy Stanton for being able to ride.

Before the carriage door was shut, Patience asked, “Where is Tempest?”

“Silas will be along with him, never fear,” Stanton said, mounting his horse.

Patience had to be content with that. Someday soon, she promised herself, she would ride every day if she wished. She looked out the window to where Stanton rode alongside the carriage. Well, every day that she wasn’t being distracted by her husband.

She gave a hiccup of laughter, and the Countess raised an eyebrow and smiled at her. “What is so amusing?”

“Oh, I believe that was more of a happy laugh than an amused one.”

“My child, I only hope you may be able to handle all the pleasure you will soon find in your life. One of the qualities I have always admired in Stanton is the way he goes full force into any task he sets himself to, and now that the most important task to him is making you happy, well, my dear…I cannot help but envy you a bit.”

Before Patience could think how to respond, the carriage came to a stop. Surprised, she leaned forward to look out the window and saw Stanton approaching. He threw open the doors, put the step down, and held up his hand to her.

“Would you like to ride for a while?”

Patience looked at him with wide eyes, desperately wanting to say yes. “Oh, but I shouldn’t. It would be so improper.”

“But we are now a most improper couple, my love.”

She grasped his hand and let him hand her out. Silas came up to them, leading Tempest, who had a sidesaddle on his back. “This was your surprise?”

Stanton just smiled and took her by the waist. Hidden behind the horse, he took the chance to kiss her tenderly before helping her up into the saddle. Silas even had a crop ready for her use, and he handed it to her along with the reins while Stanton mounted again.

“Shall we?” Stanton asked.

In answer, Patience gave Tempest the signal the gelding been waiting for, and they were off, riding across the countryside under a clear blue sky.

Epilogue

My Beloved Wife,

I find myself in the unenviable position of being called to remain in London another day to attend to the sale of the barley harvest. Had you not been in a delicate condition, I should have been selfish enough to bring you with me, even on so short and mundane an errand. Perhaps then I should not now be thinking how gloomy and unrestful the city has become. All the world’s sunshine seems to shine only in Morefield, or wherever else you may be.

Mr. Viceroy and your cousin took pity on me last evening and invited me to their home for dinner. Many of society’s most sparkling gems were seated at the table, and it appears that Mrs. Viceroy has become a sought-after hostess in political circles. Whatever ambition her husband holds in that direction, there is no doubt that she will help him attain it. They appear to be happy and almost as much in love as you and I.

Of Lord Aston, I have heard it whispered about that he has joined himself with an Italian heiress who is as tyrannical as she is plump, so you need have no further concerns about his welfare, though I have always thought your generosity too extreme in that direction.

I shall pay a visit to your uncle before I leave for home tomorrow. He assured me that I would not meet your aunt there, as she now lives permanently in the country. He hopes that we will soon come to visit him, and since he feels as strongly about his wife’s actions as I do, I have found myself to be quite in charity with him.

You will be pleased to know that I have been able to acquire the sheet music you asked for. I have taken the liberty of purchasing several other pieces that I believe you will be quite happy with, including several nocturnes by John Field, whom I know you prefer above all else. I look forward to hearing you play them. There is no lovelier sight than watching you at the pianoforte, caught up in the music you play, and no greater pleasure than walking past the house in the afternoon when the windows are open and the draperies are fluttering in the autumn breeze while such delightful music pours out on a listening world.

My darling one, this letter is surely a disappointment to you as I have not yet mastered the art of the love letter. However, I hope that by now I have convinced you of the sincerity and ardent nature of my feelings for you, which no word or rhyme ever devised by man could articulate. No, those are best expressed by look and touch—as in those quiet morning hours when I have you in my arms. Such moments fill my mind now as I write this, and it sparks within me such longing for you that you will likely see me before ever you see this letter. Perhaps I shall leave my man of business to settle things and rush home to your side. If that indeed is the case, my love, you may laugh if you wish, but you must also come and kiss me as a reward for being ever,

your loving husband,

—S

***

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Acknowledgements

I would like to thank my family, as always, for their love and support.

Thanks to my critique partners:

Jen Johnson, Mindy Strunk, Heidi Kimball, Sara Cardon and Amy Wilson.

I love working with all of you talented, amazing writers.

Your support and help has been immeasurable.

Special thanks to my editors Cara Seger, Arielle Bailey, LeNore Merritt, and Tabitha Kocsis

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About the Author

Michelle Pennington writes clean, heart-pounding, sigh-inducing romance across multiple genres. Her books include Young Adult, Contemporary, Regency, and Fantasy. The genre might change, but her characters will always be falling in love.

She spends her days quoting movies with her husband and making messes faster than her four kids. She also has two cats, Boots (who is really Hessian Boots, the perfect Regency gentleman, complete with a snowy white cravat) and a new rescue kitten, Coconut. She loves to make magic by stringing words together, but she also creates designer sugar cookies, sings loud in church, and kills too many house plants.

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Table of Contents

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author